Exiles From Delight
by Alethnya
Summary: Devlin Jacobs has finally found her destiny. Gabriel wants nothing more than to be free of his. With the world in chaos and the armies of hell on their heels, will an untried Prophet and a reluctant Archangel be able to protect the child entrusted to them? Or will the last hope for humanity be lost forever? Post-film. Gabriel/OFC.
1. Chapter 1

**Exiles From Delight**

Disclaimer: I own nothing that isn't mine.

Authors Note: Sincerest apologies to all who have followed this story…but I promise, it has not been abandoned. Life has gotten very much in the way of writing over the past few years. However, time is once again on my side, as it were, and I plan to focus far more attention on my fic over the coming months. As it has been so long, I'm giving this story a once over edit and posting updated versions of already available chapters before moving on to new material. As always, reviews are adored. Thanks!

**Chapter One**

Northwest of Bondurant, Wyoming, in the shadow of Ramshorn Peak, sat Black Pines Ranch. It was small by Wyoming standards, with a mere 500 acres and 400 head of cattle to its name—but the Jacobs family had been raising cattle and new generations of Jacobs ranchers on that small spit of acreage for well over a hundred years. The house at the heart of the ranch was a modest, handcrafted log home with big windows, small rooms and a whole lot of character.

It was a house that had seen a lot of good times and laughter and love. It had also seen more than its fair share of hardship and sadness.

But it had never seen anything like the day before.

It was the day after Christmas and the first rays of sun that crested the tree-lined ridge behind the house shone down upon a gruesome scene of blood-stained snow and the cold, empty shells of the Allisons, the Mathesons and the Fitzgeralds.

Fifteen people whose only crime was that they'd lived near _her._

Devlin Jacobs knew that as well as she knew her own name. She would have liked nothing better than to pretend otherwise, but after spending the past forty-eight hours in a haze of crippling pain and gut-wrenching terror, she didn't have the energy to waste on make believe. It wouldn't make her feel any better and it certainly wouldn't make them any less dead.

It had been, all in all, a miserable fucking Christmas.

Of course, considering how her Grandfather had spent _his _Christmas, she wasn't about to complain anywhere but inside her own head. And even that was pushing it, to be honest.

She knew she wouldn't ever forget the look on Pops' face when she'd told him that it was over. That he could relax. That he could put the gun down. He'd just looked at her, his expression stark and terrified, but still so damned determined.

She'd had to physically pry his finger from the trigger and then wrestle the old Mossberg away from him.

Once she'd managed to calm him down and convince him that it really was over, she'd spent the next several hours trying to talk him into getting a little shut eye. He had finally agreed, but only after extracting a promise from her that she would do the same herself.

Two hours later, she wasn't even close to following through on that deal.

Lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling and counting knots in the old pine, she suspected it was going to be a long time before sleep came easy again. Hell, it was going to be a long time before sleep came, period. And when it did finally come, it certainly wasn't going to be pretty.

Not when all she could see when she closed her eyes were the twisted visages of people she'd known her entire life, warped by powers beyond their ken, for reasons beyond their imagining. Not when she would then see those same faces, slack with death, their eyes vacant...piercing. Accusing.

_Yourfaultyourfaultyourfault. _

_Because. Of. You._

Dev bolted upright, upper body curling over her bent legs and arms locking around her knees. She huddled there for several long seconds before expelling a long, deep sigh. In its wake, she uncurled her right hand from around her left wrist and pinched the bridge of her nose between strong, work-callused fingers.

She needed to turn her brain off.

She needed a distraction.

She needed to get the hell out of the house.

A particularly loud whinny from the stables, trickling in through one of the broken windows in the living room, stirred her, gave her just the excuse she was so desperately looking for. She was up and dressed and picking her way through the still dark living room before she allowed herself time to think of all the reasons why she should stay inside.

It _was_ over. She _knew _it was over; could feel the truth of it. But that didn't curb the paranoid whisper in her head that said she could be wrong.

A whisper that she was determined to ignore.

She just wanted to go outside. Feel the crunch of the snow beneath her boots—the crisp, clean wind in her face. Maybe take Cass, her sooty buckskin mare, for a ride.

A long ride. Far, far away from...everything.

She was pulling on her heaviest winter coat when she heard the old floorboards give out a warning creak behind her. Frowning but determined, she slotted the zipper and gave it a firm upward tug. "You're supposed to be sleeping, Pops."

"Tried," her grandfather barked out, his graveled baritone turning the word sharp, "can't. And thankfully so," he paused and she heard him move closer. "Just what the hell you think you're doin', Dev?"

She turned then, looking up into the creased and careworn face of the man who had taught her everything she knew about the life she loved. "Someone's gotta see to the animals, Pops. And after what happened," she paused, choked, cleared her throat, tried again. "Well, after what happened...I could do with a bit of fresh air."

"You're not leavin' this house. Not with things as they are."

Dev sighed, hating to hear her own doubts voiced aloud. "We already did this, Pops. I told you it was done and you heard it on the radio same as I did. It's fine now. It's over."

Her grandfather, deep into his sixties and still a bear of a man, drew himself up to his full height and pinned her with a flinty stare. "There's nothing fine about any of this, Devlin. Nothing's gonna be fine for a good long time, I'm guessing. And even if it was, you're not settin' foot out that door 'til I say so. If the animals need tendin', I'll do it."

"Pops..."

"Devlin Anne Jacobs...I emptied nine whole boxes of ammunition over the past forty-eight hours. Most of it," his voice cracked, his expression flickering from anger to grief and back again in the span of an instant, "into people I'd known forever. And as it sure as shit wasn't _me_ they were comin' after, I'll repeat...your ass isn't settin' foot out that goddamned door 'til I know for _goddamned_ sure that it really is over."

Whether the accusation was intended or not, Dev heard it. Felt it down in the deepest, darkest parts of herself. _And rightly so_, she thought, her heart cold and heavy in her chest, eyes straying to the shuttered windows and picturing the blood-spattered carnage that she knew lay beyond. _All that...because of me._

Her shoulders dropped and she wiped viciously at the tear that was crawling down her cheek. "You're right, Pops. I'll stay inside."

She turned away again, removing her coat and hanging it back on its peg. She was nearly past him when her grandfather wrapped his fingers around her arm and pulled her into a hug.

"This isn't your fault, baby girl. None of this's your fault, and I'm sorry I made it sound like it was."

Dev pushed her nose into his shirt, inhaling deeply the mingled scents of tobacco and horse and butterscotch hard candy and allowed herself a small moment of comfort. "It wasn't my fault that it happened," she acknowledged, her voice muffled, "but I was the reason they came _here_. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have had to..."

"Darlin', I'd do it all over again." He squeezed her tighter. "To keep you safe, I'd do worse. You're my world, baby girl."

It wasn't just a platitude. It was the truth. Eli Jacobs had lost his only daughter to childbirth the night Dev was born twenty-seven years prior and his wife to cancer six summers past. She really was all he had left.

And look what she'd brought upon him.

She pulled away from him, took three steps backwards and dropped down onto the mudroom bench. She dropped her head into her hands, fingers combing backwards into the dark mahogany of her hair and digging into her scalp. "I _hate _this," she hissed. "I hate that you had to do that because of _me_. And I really hate that I wasn't even able to help."

"It was what it was, darlin'...and you are what you are. No use hatin' things that can't be changed." The pause that followed was rife with unease. "How's your head feelin' anyway? Still hurtin'?"

Something fierce. But he didn't need to know that.

"I'm fine," she dismissed. "The worst of it stopped when everything else did, just like he said it would."

Pops narrowed his eyes at that admission, like a predator sighting prey, and she knew she should have left off that last part. It was the first time she'd made mention of the phone call she'd received in the earliest hours of Christmas Eve.

They'd been sitting at the small dining table, a fire crackling and popping away in the big river rock fireplace while they shared a game of cribbage and a few fingers of the Stranahan's she'd picked up during her last trip into Jackson. When the phone rang, they'd exchanged mildly concerned looks. At ten-minutes-of-one in the morning in their world, a ringing phone meant only one of two things—it was either a wrong number or something bad had happened. With that thought in mind, she had picked up the phone already frowning and it had all just gone downhill from there. Five minutes later, she'd dropped the phone back onto its base with a ghost-pale face and shaking hands, and told Pops that they had work to do.

A few hours later, all hell had broken loose.

Through it all, Pops hadn't asked a single tough question. He'd accepted the things she chose to tell him and did what needed doing. Now though, she could see by the look on his face that he was about to start asking all those questions she didn't want to answer.

"You know, baby girl, you never did say who it was that called the other day."

Dev stiffened, her spine straightening and her chin coming up. "You're right. I didn't."

"Think you might?"

This was even harder than she'd thought it would be. Because by asking that one question, he'd broken a tradition that went back far longer than just two days.

He _never_ asked.

It was one of the facts of her life. She was…different and Pops didn't ask about it. It was something she had come to count on over the years, especially since Grams—who _had_ asked, because that's what Grandmothers did—had died.

And now, here he was. Asking.

Goddamn it all to hell and back again.

She met his hazel eyes with her own, her expression an equal mixture of reluctance and—to her shame—resentment. She hated him just a little bit in that moment for asking; and herself a whole lot more for feeling that way. "Honestly, Pops, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

That earned her a hard, narrow-eyed look that was half annoyance, half disbelief. "Darlin'," he barked out, "after yesterday…hell…and everything _before _yesterday…"

He paused and shook his head. His hand rose, fell, dropped hard onto her shoulder; fingers digging into the fabric of her shirt, thumb pressing into the bare skin of her neck.

And with a white-hot jolt, images erupted into Dev's mind…

_Years ago…her on her knees in the yard, shivering and caked with mud, face lifted up to the sky and staring up, up, up with wide, blank eyes and whispering words that weren't like any words he'd ever heard in a voice that wasn't hers, or any one person's, but sounded like church on Sunday's when everyone was singing the hymns and no one was quite all together but still together enough that it came out sounding joyous and eerie all at the same time._

_Months ago…her standing, swaying, in the farthest reaches of the barn loft, eyes screwed shut tight and scribbling jibberish on the walls with a black felt pen, each new symbol flaring blinding white before turning a shimmering gold and him rolling on eight coats of paint before giving up and simply piling up bales of hay in front of the words that were still there, glowing bright as day._

_Yesterday…her laying on her side on the floor beside the couch, curled into a ball with her hands clamped tight around her head, sobbing, gasping, screaming in pain as he loadedaimedfiredloadedaimedfired at the heads of the monsters that wore the faces of neighbors and friends only not really because he sure as hell didn't remember Jim Allison's teeth looking like steak knives or Cathy Matheson's arms stretching out like rubber bands pulled too tight and how the fuck was Danny Fitzgerald still walking with a big damn hole straight through his gut and oh Sweet Jesus were those innards spilling out and…_

"Stop!"

Dev screeched the word, jerking backwards and away so that the hand that had been on her shoulder fell into the space between them and her mind cleared and became her own again. She looked up, past the large hand still hovering in mid-air to the lined face above it, and saw confusion slowly morph into a nebulous sort of understanding.

"Yeah," Pops drawled, brow arching knowingly. "I think you might be surprised what I'm willing to believe these days, Dev. So how 'bout you give it a try."

Standing there, watching her expectantly, he made it sound so simple. She wished that the truth could be that easy. After all, he was right. He'd seen so much—especially over the past few days.

But he hadn't seen it all. Not even close.

Because there were things she knew; things she had seen; things that she herself barely believed existed in the scope of her world. Things that, for the sake of her already dubious grasp on normality, had to stay secret. Some of those secrets were so big—so terrifying—that she had had to pretend even to herself that they weren't real.

The voice on the other end of that phone call…well, he might not be one of the scariest secrets she had, but he was definitely one of the hardest to explain.

"I don't talk about this, Pops."

If he was at all put off by the sharpness—the bitter, angry censure—in her voice, he did a remarkable job of hiding it.

"You don't," he agreed. "Doesn't mean you can't."

Dev sighed, leaned backwards until her head rested against the age-smoothed wooden wall. Telling him would change everything. If he knew about _this, _then there couldn't be any more dancing around the subject. He wouldn't just know she was different, he would once and for all truly understand just how different she really was.

It would make everything so much more real than it had ever been before. But well...everything was irrevocably changed anyway now, wasn't it? Did the rest—such a little bit more, compared to what had already come out—really make that big a difference?

A very large, very vocal part of her was utterly certain that she was making a mistake…

"It was Michael."

…but apparently, that wasn't going to make a damn bit of difference.

"What was who?"

Dev let out another sigh, her shoulders slumping. "On the phone the other day, Pops. The phone call? It was Michael."

His look told her better than words could that he'd expected...more. And oh, if that's what he wanted…

If that was really, truly what he wanted…

"Dunbar's kid? The one with the blue hair and black fingernails?"

Oh, she could certainly oblige. She could give him enough _more _to last him a lifetime.

"No, not that Michael, Pops. He's..." she paused, floundered, utterly lost for the words that could explain it without having to just come straight out with it because she knew just how crazy it would sound if she did. After a long moment of contemplation, inspiration struck and she knew exactly which tack to take. She looked up at her grandfather, meeting his eyes squarely and deliberately. "And at that time shall Michael stand up," she began, reciting the verse with quiet purpose, "the great prince which standeth for the children of thy people: and there shall be a time of trouble, such as never was since there was a nation even to that same time: and at that time thy people shall be delivered, every one that shall be found written in the book."

Silence followed; complete and total silence that was so loud that it hurt her ears. But she never flinched. She just kept on looking straight at her grandfather's eyes, willing him to understand what she was telling him—hoping he wouldn't think she was as nuts as she usually thought she was.

"So you're tellin' me," Pops said eventually, his voice thinner than she'd ever heard it, "that the Archangel Michael, God's Own General, called you. On the telephone."

"Long distance, collect from Los Angeles," she affirmed, proud of him for getting it and relieved that it was done with such relative ease.

"To what? Warn you the demons were comin'?"

Dev's expression tightened, but she forced herself to nod. "He knew what was coming, yeah. And he knew that it was going to affect me—though he didn't know to what extent. I don't believe he knew it'd knock me on my ass quite as thoroughly as it did."

Michael had told her a whole hell of a lot more than that, but as it was all over and done with, the details of the phone call really weren't all that important. If Pops' wanted to believe it had all been the Devil's work, well, that was fine by her. After everything, she just hadn't the heart to tell him the truth.

"So what you're tellin' me," Pops said after another long bout of silence, "is that you know the Archangel Michael. Personally."

"Yup," she confirmed, popping the p with relish. "Met him for the first time about ten years ago—he appeared to me while I was out riding the fence. It wasn't long after…," she hesitated, giving him a sheepish look. "Remember the first time you and Grams found me wandering around the yard in the middle of the night?"

The look that earned her was truly priceless. "You mean the night we found you traipsin' round the back of the barn barefoot and in your nightclothes, talking to people who weren't there in a voice that wasn't yours in a language that wasn't anything like English? Yeah, darlin', I reckon I do."

His sarcasm was a thing of beauty. In another situation, she might have laughed. Even now, she couldn't help but grin. "Stupid question," she acknowledged. "But anyway, it was just after that. I was riding along and suddenly there he was and to make a very long story short, he sometimes drops in to check up on me and I sometimes request an audience with him and we've become, well…friends. Sort of."

"Friends…?"

"Sort of," she repeated. "But I guess you could more call him a mentor. He explains things…answers as many of my questions as he can. He's helped me a lot, Pops—made me understand a whole hell of a lot more about who and what I am."

She watched as Pops took that in, chewed it up and—ever so gingerly—gulped it down. "Well I," he shook his head, blew out an overwhelmed breath, "I suppose I'm thankful for him then, if he's helped you like you say. It's…mighty kind of the Good Lord to have sent one of His most faithful to shepherd you."

"Two, actually," Dev corrected automatically and then immediately wished she could reel the words back in. She was giving the whole honesty-is-the-best-policy thing a shot, but that didn't mean she had to go overboard with it.

"Two?"

"Sometimes it isn't Michael. Sometimes it's Gabriel."

"Of course," Pops said after a prolonged moment of tense silence, voice oddly neutral. "Of course it would be Gabriel too. Only makes sense that the Lord would send His best to prepare one of His prophets, now doesn't it?"

_Prophet_.

The word echoed in Devlin's ears, hitting her like a punch to the gut. It was the very first time that word had ever actually been spoken between them. Michael had certainly spouted it at her enough, doing his utmost to impress the importance of her situation on her young mind; Gabriel as well, though with twice the austerity and half the charm. But hearing it from her solid, staid and all too human Grandfather made it real in a way it never had been before.

Luckily, the disbelief in his voice gave her something to focus on besides the title.

"You don't believe me? Really?"

"Oh, I believe you, darlin'," Pops said, his voice a little stronger. "More than believe…I _know_. Have known for years now, truth be told." His expression changed then, warmed, and the harsh planes of his face softened. "Your Grandmama was so proud of you, of what you are. She would've been giddy as hell to know you're friends with Angels, baby girl."

"Yeah," Dev agreed, her smile a brittle thing. "Grams always said it was a gift. Wonder if she still would've thought that after…everything."

"Don't think anything could've ever changed her mind."

Dev arched a brow and nodded toward the door. "I think a dozen dead neighbors might've changed..." her voice trailed off and her brow furrowed as a familiar feeling came over her, a feeling that was fear and excitement and awe all rolled up into one and that only ever meant one thing...

"His ears must've been on fire," she muttered, eyes on the door, "Pops, go on to your room. Now."

She knew the look that got her. She didn't even need to look at him to see it. "Excuse me?"

"Seriously, Pops," she turned, leaned forward and placed a hand on her Grandfathers arm, "just go to your room and get some sleep. I'm about to receive some of that shepherding we were just talking about and I really don't think now's the right time to make any introductions."

Eli Jacobs gave a snort of laughter and rubbed a weary hand over his eyes. "You might just be right there, darlin'," he agreed. He leaned forward and planted a quick kiss on her forehead. "I think maybe I've handled about as much as I can at present." He turned and started walking away, but stopped at the opposite side of the living room, just at the threshold of the short hallway that led back to the bedrooms. "I expect you'll come on back and get me if you need anything, Devlin Anne…understood? Anything at all."

He sounded so…normal; like none of the crazy she'd just laid on him meant a thing next to the fact that she was his granddaughter. It was very him; and it was so much more than she deserved. His easy acceptance nearly brought tears to her eyes, but she swallowed hard against them and offered him a brilliant smile instead. "I will, Pops. Promise."

"That's alright then."

And he was gone, his bedroom door clicking shut behind him.

Barely a moment later, there was the sound of wings followed by the dull thunderclap of landing. It was a sound that she had come to know well, and she quickly pulled her coat on, zipped up and threw open the door to greet her unexpected—but very welcome—guest.


	2. Chapter 2

_We, unaccustomed to courage_

_exiles from delight_

_live coiled in shells of loneliness_

_ ~Maya Angelou, Touched By An Angel_

**Chapter Two**

Pulling the door shut behind her as she stepped out onto the small porch at the back of the house, Dev's eyes were immediately drawn toward the barn and to a pair of magnificent black wings stretching upwards and outwards to their full breadth, cutting a stark outline against the faded whitewash of the old barn. A knot of tension—one of many currently residing in her stomach, but larger than most—slowly unwound at the familiar sight and she couldn't help but smile.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you," she called, voice brighter than it had been since the phone call that had rocked her world to the foundations. She bounded down the three small steps to the yard below with as much lightness as snow boots could afford. "All things considered, I wasn't sure I'd be seeing you again, but I've never been happier to be wrong, Michael."

The wings snapped down, folding onto a broad expanse of shoulders and revealing a chiseled profile that was most definitely _not _Michael's.

Dev froze, thrown. The recently released tension coiled anew inside her, twisting and squeezing and leaving her vaguely nauseated. "Gabriel?"

He half-turned toward her from where he stood, sheltered within the early morning shadows and met her eyes across the unbroken blanket of white between them. He said nothing, merely dipped his head in acknowledgment.

One heartbeat of silence stretched to two, and then Dev blurted out the foremost thought in her head. "You're not Michael."

The muscle at the corner of his jaw ticked, his head turned further toward her and steel gray eyes locked fully onto hers. "You are, as ever, observant, Navi."

Any other day, the condescension dripping from that sentence would have set her teeth on edge and sparked every last nerve in her body. Today, when she could only imagine his presence at her door meaning _very bad things_, she barely even noticed it. "It's Michael, isn't it?" The words came out rough and she took a step forward, boots crunching in the knee-deep snow. "He's dead, isn't he?"

If possible, Gabriel's expression turned bleaker. "Michael lives."

Relief poured through her and she let out the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. "Oh thank God!"

At that, Gabriel let out a sharp bark of laughter that was utterly devoid of any actual humor. "Indeed," he rasped, cynicism turning the word bitter. "Thank God."

Dev arched a brow at him, surprised. "Resentment. Interesting. But I gotta say, really not the reaction I was expecting. Do I detect trouble in paradise?" She paused, quirked a smile. "Literally."

The joke was wasted on Gabriel, who shot her a look that was as cold and remote as the mountains in the distance. "Your humor is crass and ill-timed. It is also misinformed, unsolicited and presumptuous—though I suppose I should expect no less."

She'd never wanted to tell someone what they could do with themself more. Unfortunately, he wasn't just someone. He was Gabriel, the Original Archangel, the Left Hand of God, which she figured probably meant a whole lot of something. As such, she had always been loath to insult him, lest she incur the Almighty's wrath on his behalf. So instead of giving him a thorough demonstration of the more explicit side of her vocabulary, she stamped her anger down, down, down, took a deep breath and just let it go.

Mostly.

"So what's the deal then? Is this my 'all clear'? Who did I piss off that they sent _you_? "

There was another pause, another silence that stretched taut between them.

"I was not sent."

The words were spoken low; so low that Dev could barely be certain she'd heard them at all. And if she had heard him right, she certainly didn't understand him. She waited, having no clue what to say and every moment expecting him to say something else—something _more—_but it wasn't long before she began to suspect that wasn't going to happen. After several seconds of unbroken silence, she got tired of waiting for an explanation that probably wasn't ever going to come on its own.

"Sorry if this sounds rude," she prefaced, insincere as hell and sounding it, "but if no one sent you, then why the hell are you here?"

Another tick of his jaw and his gaze swung toward her and then away again without ever actually landing on her. "I...do not know."

He was being nothing more than his usual, infuriatingly uncommunicative self, but Dev's patience was running on empty. "Right," she drawled, arching a brow and looking him up and down in palpable irritation, "because you make a habit of…"

Her voice trailed off as her eyes fell upon the snow around his feet, stained dark against the shifting gray of the shadows. She looked back up at him, all annoyance instantly forgotten. "Is that blood? Gabriel…are you hurt?"

"It is nothing."

The words were indifferent but Dev paid them no mind, wading quickly through the snow that separated them with the sure steps of one born and bred to the harshness of a Rocky Mountain winter. Once she reached his side, she reached down and drew a hand through the distinctly not-white powder beside one tall, leather boot. She straightened, eyed her glove, and then held it out for him to see.

"That sure as hell doesn't look like nothing to me."

Gabriel cast a dispassionate glance down at the dark-stained leather of her battered old Manzella's, his upper body curling even further away from her. "Do not trouble yourself, Navi."

Dev ignored him with the ease of long practice and darted around in front of him to confirm her already well-formed suspicions. That too-casual-to-be-coincidental withdrawal had been telling, but she was the kind of girl who liked real, solid proof. When she found it, her eyes widened and she gasped, horrified by the steady flow of crimson seeping out from beneath the arm he held banded across his midsection. "Gabriel," she snapped his name, reaching out toward him and attempting to pull his arm away so that she could get a better look, "that's _not _nothing!"

Gabriel drew sharply away from her touch. "Forgive me...I misspoke," he said and the words were as icy as the late December air. "I should have said that it is nothing you need concern yourself with, Navi."

Under the circumstances, Dev decided to let the rudeness slide. That _name _though…from the very first time they'd met, he'd never called her anything else. At first, she'd kind of liked it; it had made the teenager she'd been feel all kinds of grown up. Now that she actually _was_ grown up—and fully cognizant of what it meant and the burdens it entailed—she found her appreciation for it waning. "I do have a name, you know; a real name, not just some antique title. I'd appreciate you using it."

"I have no doubt that you would. You may favor banality to exceptionality if you choose, Navi, but I shall continue to address you as I see fit."

And there it was again—that spectacular rudeness of his.

"You know, Gabriel, you can be a real jerk."

His brow knit, confusion creasing his face momentarily before being swept away by something that looked oddly like indignation. "And you, Navi, are particularly gifted at finding insult where none was intended."

"Right," Dev scoffed, "because who wouldn't want to be called banal? How could I possibly have read that as an insult? I swear, you make it impossible to like you sometimes."

There was a flash, however quickly, of _something _in his eyes—something different than icy distance, at least, though she counted herself in no way qualified to decipher the enigma that lay behind that forbidding façade. When that fleeting look was gone, it left again that absolute nothingness in its place.

"Then trouble yourself with me no further," he said quietly. "I shall go…and more fool me for having come at all."

He turned away sharply, his dark wings flaring in preparation for flight. He made it two whole steps before coming to a stumbling halt, a stifled grunt of pain slipping past his lips. Dev was already moving toward him when his legs buckled a moment later. Throwing herself against his side, she managed to keep him from toppling over completely, though the both of them still ended up on their knees.

"Damn, you're heavy" she cursed, wincing beneath the press of his weight across her shoulders. She pushed herself hard against his side, lodging her shoulder firmly beneath his triceps. Once they were steady, she reached up and grabbed the hand that had clamped down hard upon her shoulder when she broke his fall. "Ok, up we go," she said, hoping she sounded encouraging.

As soon as they were back on their feet, Gabriel immediately tried to extricate himself from her supporting arms. Dev tightened her grip. "Deal with it," she commanded, "because I'm not letting go. You need help and whether you like it or not, I'm all you've got at present, so stop arguing, don't fight me and once we get you settled inside I'll call for Michael and…"

"No."

"Didn't I just tell you not to argue? This sounds a whole lot like arguing to me."

"You will not summon Michael."

"Don't be stupid."

"I said, no!"

"But, Michael can…"

"It was Michael who did this!"

_That_ pulled her up short.

Dev leaned backwards far enough to see Gabriel's face clearly, though she kept her grip on him firm. "You know, Michael actually called to warn me right before all hell broke loose. He explained the basics, so I know he broke ranks. But since even lone-wolf-Michael doesn't strike me as the randomly murderous type, I'm gonna go out on a limb and guess that he had a pretty good reason for doing it."

"The best, I assure you." Gabriel looked down at her, the picture of composure despite the fact that he was bleeding like a stuck pig. "I killed him."

Oh. Well.

"You…"

"…killed him."

"But…you…," she stuttered, almost comically aghast at his revelation. "I thought you said…"

"...that Michael lives. And so he does." A strained smile, almost entirely devoid of any true humor, lifted the corner of his mouth. "That does not change the fact that I killed him. Or that I might well have done so a second time had not my anger driven me to recklessness."

Dev shook her head, frustrated. Talking to him had never been easy; more like beating her head against a brick wall than actual conversation. She supposed she should be thankful that some things really never did change…but quite frankly, all she was at that moment was tired.

"You know, I didn't think my head could hurt any worse than it already did, but you've managed to find a way," she complained uncharitably.

He said nothing to that, but a moment later, the hand resting on her shoulder lifted. She almost snapped at him about being stubborn again but before she could say a word, his palm was pressing between her eyebrows, his fingers splayed up and over the curve of her forehead, spanning from temple to temple. Dev's eyes fluttered shut as a tiny ball of warmth suddenly sparked to life just behind her eyes and steadily grew until it filled her entire head. A moment later, the weight of his hand disappeared and took the warmth—and her headache—with it.

She blinked a few times, enjoying the unexpected relief. Pursing her lips, she lifted her head to give Gabriel a look. "You just had to go and be nice, didn't you?"

Silence.

Dev sighed, resigned. "I'm not gonna lie—I absolutely want to know what happened, but since you're kinda busy bleeding all over my jacket, here's what were gonna do: _I'm_ gonna pretend I don't care about the details, _you're_ gonna pretend I never asked any questions in the first place and _we're_ just gonna focus on getting you fixed up, ok?"

He was surprised by that and showed it in the arch of one dark brow. "I tell you I killed Michael and still you offer me aide?"

"We need to work on your listening skills," Dev huffed. "I just said that I don't want to hear about it right now. What I _do _wantto hear, Gabriel, is you telling me what I can do to help."

All emotion was once again wiped clean from his starkly handsome face. "Time will, as time does, heal these wounds," he said with customary stoicism. "Your concern is admirable but ultimately immaterial, Navi—I neither need nor want your help."

That stung when it shouldn't have. They had never been anything even remotely like friends—had, in fact, been at odds with one another more than a few times over the years—but they had always managed to stay cordial. But that had just been downright mean, especially since she was only trying to help him.

And then, just as quickly as his rudeness stung, it began to chafe. Because if he'd had anything to do with what had happened yesterday—and she _knew _that he had—then she was already being far nicer to him than he had any right to expect. That he could be that much of a prick to her, on this of all days…

"You don't want my help? Fine!" Devlin threw his arm off of her shoulders and watched with something like satisfaction as he staggered sideways, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "You know, I've had a fucking awfulcouple of days, Gabriel. It's been 48 hours of blinding pain and constant, horrific terror, punctuated here and there with watching a whole bunch of really good people get splattered all over my front yard, so you'll have to forgive me if I don't have patience or the energy to deal with your sanctimonious bullshit at present. And since you don't need anything and you don't seem to be here for any reason besides pissing me off, how about you just take your superior-in-every-_fucking_-way self right on back to where you belong!"

There was a very pregnant silence after that outburst. She spent it watching him. He spent it staring at the snow.

"I have offended you," Gabriel said eventually, voice flat. "That was not my intent, Navi."

"Then what was your intent?" Dev planted her hands on her hips, glaring at him through narrowed eyes. "What is any of this? Why the hell are you here, Gabriel?"

If possible, his expression turned even more desolate, his eyes going dark and hollow. "In truth, Navi, I do not know. After my confrontation with Michael…" his voice trailed off and he looked very pointedly away. "I…did not know where else to go."

Dev was not, in general, a particularly empathetic person. She had more than enough of her own burdens to bear and was in no particular hurry to waste precious energy worrying about other people's problems. So she was surprised to find that his quiet confession and obvious distress hit her square in the heart.

Of course, that might well have had something to do with the fact that she was fully cognizant of just how huge an admission that was for him to have made.

Michael talked. Michael communicated. He was, to all intents and purposes, an open book—readily accessible and easily read. He was pleasant and friendly and had an easy carelessness to him that was infectious.

Gabriel…wasn't any of that.

Gabriel was dogmatic and unyielding and aloof to the point of being rude and he had a way of making her feel utterly insignificant. He never said a word that wasn't carefully considered and he never committed an act that wasn't meticulously planned.

But here he was, admitting to weakness; allowing her to see that yes, there _were _chinks in his armor (the icy, figurative kind rather than hard steel and stiff leather). And then there was the other part.

The part where he'd come _here_. He'd come to _her—_for help, whether he would admit it or not—because he didn't know what else to do.

It really was a big deal. Seriously.

"Well…fuck," Dev huffed out, her righteous indignation spent.

Gabriel snorted at that. "Indeed," he agreed, tone an odd combination of humor and misery. "Fuck."

She couldn't help it; she laughed—a good, honest, full-out belly laugh that was probably completely inappropriate given the state of the world in general and the state of their conversation in particular. But that word coming out of his mouth was just wrong; it was so wrong, in fact, that it was downright hilarious. She'd probably offended him, as she usually did, but how could she not laugh at something so stunningly funny?

"Why, Gabriel," she choked out, not even attempting to hide her mirth, "don't you know that's a very bad word?"

He grinned then, a sly twist of the lips that softened all of his habitual sharpness and rendered him utterly…approachable. Suddenly, he was an entirely different creature to both the rigidly contained acolyte she had known for years or the lost and miserable creature that had stood hunched before her only seconds ago. His eyes were warm with humor when they met hers on the rebound of a small, swift nod of acknowledgment. "Yes," he mused, seeming more at ease within his own skin than she'd ever seen. "So it fucking is."

She laughed even harder this time.

And then it happened.

It was the work of an instant, and it hit her like the proverbial ton of bricks. In the nearly infinitesimal space between one heartbeat and the next, Dev went from being _willing _to help him, to _wanting _to help him. And there was, she realized, a staggering difference between the two.

"You're staying here," she blurted out before she had time to talk herself out of it. "You're staying here, and you're not leaving until you're all healed up. Got it?"

And just that quickly, his mood swung sharply the other direction. The levity of moments before fled and all that stunning emotion was swiftly locked away behind the steel of his eyes. He stiffened, his spine straightening even more than usual. "If this is pity, Navi, then you may keep it. I want none of it."

"Well that's a relief," Dev shot back as she moved to his side once more, determined now not to let him rile her, "since I'm all out of it at the moment."

"I am quite serious, Navi."

"So am I. You're welcome here, Gabriel. Honestly."

She kept her eyes on his, let him read the truth of her words in the openness of her expression. Once he had apparently satisfied himself with what he found in her face, he released a long, sighing breath.

"My thanks, Navi."

"My pleasure, Gabriel." Devlin stepped back toward him and once more slid beneath the arm not clutched to his middle, this time wrapping her arm around his waist. "Now that's settled, let's get you inside. It's freezing out here, and you're not anywhere near properly dressed for a Wyoming winter."

"Your concern is appreciated, but I do not feel the cold," Gabriel sniffed, shrugging her off and taking a faltering step away from her. "And I need no crutch."

He couldn't make anything easy, could he?

"All right then." She refused to get angry, but she wasn't about to let him turn everything into a battle of wills. And if he had to fall on his hallowed ass to figure out that even _he _needed help from time to time, then so be it. She pointed across the yard, expression carefully neutral as the image of his grin lingered in her mind. "The door's that way."

Gabriel turned round sharply, booted feet disappearing into yet more fresh powder as he took one, then two tentative steps toward the door. On the third step, he let out a hiss of frustrated pain and staggered to a stop.

Despite her determination otherwise, Dev was at his side in an instant, arm once more about his waist. His arm fell heavily upon her shoulders and his hand wrapped around her bicep, his grip like a vice. She tilted her head back and hoped the "I-told-you-so" she was holding on her tongue was clearly visible in her eyes as they sought his.

Apparently, it was. His jaw tensed, ticked yet again—she seemed to be particularly good at making it do that—and he very pointedly turned his face up and away from her.

"Perhaps I spoke too quickly."

Dev snorted out a laugh. As an apology in general, it was pretty much nonexistent. But as an apology from the second oldest being in all of Creation…it was actually pretty damn good.

"Gee, you think," she said, lacking as much grace in her acceptance as he had in his repentance. "Now, let's take it slow and watch out for ice. I don't really feel like taking a fall and getting squashed beneath your venerable self."

He responded with a grunt that may or may not have been agreement. When he didn't haul her across the yard as fast as he could, she figured she had her answer. Arms around one another—and discomfort radiating from him in waves strong enough for even her to pick up on—they shuffled their way slowly across the distance between themselves and the door, eventually making it there without even the slightest hiccup.

She threw the door open, cringed as it banged hard into the wall behind, but didn't stop to see if she'd knocked a hole in the wood. Gabriel was leaning on her a little harder with every step they took, and being that he was as heavy as a damn ox, she was far more concerned about getting settled than about the fifty year old timbers. He had to duck to make it through the doorway, but soon enough they were securely inside with the door shut behind them. She led him through the living room and into the kitchen where she nodded toward one of the stools at the counter.

"Sit down there while I dig out our first aid gear. Those wounds need cleaning."

Gabriel lifted his arm from her shoulders and dropped heavily onto the stool, looking—she thought, now that she could see him in the more direct light streaming in through the kitchen windows—more than a little gray around the edges. He was in far more pain than he'd been letting on.

"As I told you, they will heal on their own, in time. You need not..."

"Call me stupid, but I'm pretty sure we already had this conversation." She gave him a barbed look, waited until he looked away, then started toward the hallway that led to the back of the house, self-satisfied and smiling. "I'll be right back. You don't move from that spot."

His only response to that was a nod and it felt like yet another hard won victory.

_One more point to me, _she congratulated herself.

In fact, she was happily contemplating just how many points she'd scored on him so far that morning when reality decided to rear its ugly head once more. She was elbow deep in the cabinet beneath the sink in the larger of the two bathrooms—the tally running ever higher on the scoreboard of her mind—when she heard the connecting door behind her creak open.

"I thought you were gonna get some sleep, Pops."

"Thought you were gonna come and tell me when everything was...clear."

Finding the last bits that she had been looking for, she rocked back onto her heels and stood up, arms full of medical supplies. "About that, Pops…change of plans."

Her grandfather took in the various and sundry medical gear she held and chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. "He hurt?"

She nodded. "I'm gonna patch him up best I can. He's gonna be here for a while though...a couple days, at least, I'd guess."

Pops' eyebrow arched so high and so hard she was surprised it didn't jump off his face. "I believe you're serious, baby girl."

"As a heart attack," she affirmed, shifting the supplies awkwardly. "I know I didn't clear it with you first, but I figured you'd be fine with it. Couldn't see you telling me that he wasn't welcome!"

Her grandfather gave a low whistle. "Surely not, darlin'. Can't be kicking the Archangel Michael to the curb...your Grams'd skin me alive soon as I reached the hereafter!"

"She certainly would," Dev agreed. "But it's actually not Michael, Pops. It's Gabriel."

To his credit, Pops barely even flinched. "Don't rightly know why that's a scarier prospect," he said, tense now, "but it is."

"You don't know the half of it." Dev edged toward the door to the hallway. "And speaking of the giant pain the ass, I need to get back out there and fix him up before he changes his mind about letting me."

"Devlin Anne! I know you don't talk _to _him the way you talk _about _him!"

Dev laughed and then leaned up on her toes to buss a kiss across her grandfather's weathered cheek. "You worry too much, Pops."

Slightly mollified but still anxious, Pops shook his head. "That wasn't nearly the answer I was looking for, baby girl."

"It's ok, I promise," Dev assured with a grin. "Trust me, Pops…Gabriel and I," she paused, grin widening to a smile, "we're good. And I'll prove it to you later when I introduce you. For now though, I think it's best if you just stick to your room for a little while longer. Think you can handle that?"

Pops shooed her off with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry 'bout me. You just go do what needs doin'. I'll be here if you need me."

Dev's smile shifted, turned soft. "You're the best, you know that, Pops?"

"Not so bad yourself, darlin'."

And then the door snicked closed behind him and she turned around and headed back to the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

**Exiles From Delight**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except what is mine.**

_We, unaccustomed to courage_

_exiles from delight_

_live coiled in shells of loneliness_

_until love leaves its high holy temple_

_and comes into our sight to liberate us into life_

_ ~Maya Angelou, Touched By An Angel_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

"I think I've got everything I'll need," Dev announced as she plowed into the kitchen. "And if I don't then we're gonna have to make do since this is everything I've got."

Gabriel took in the heap of medical supplies piled in her arms and arched a brow. "A meager offering, indeed," he remarked, dry as dust.

Dev stopped in mid-stride, her wide smile drooping and the brightness in her eyes dimming at the perceived rebuke before anger took over and turned her entire expression flinty. "Well forgive me, but it's not every day I need to perform major surgery in my kitchen. I'll try to be better equipped next time you decide to get yourself cut in half."

Gabriel's expression—oddly light for him—turned absolutely lethal. "That is not at all what I meant, you ins…," he snapped his mouth shut, teeth gritting hard against the angry words that so obviously wanted to claw their way past his lips. "Tell me, Navi—are you as tenaciously immune to _all_ attempts at humor or just mine?"

"Sorry, but if I'd known you _had _a sense of humor, it might have occurred to me that you were trying to be funny." Dev closed the remaining distance between them and dumped her bounty onto the counter top. "Since I didn't, I just assumed it was you being a jackass again."

"Your esteem is, as ever, overwhelming."

Dev kept her head down to hide her smile, fingers working at the wrapper of a box of suture thread. "If it makes you feel better, I promise I'll laugh my ass off next time you unbend enough to crack a joke."

"Yes, well, loath as I am to deprive you of the enjoyment you are so clearly having at my expense," Gabriel grumbled, watching as she unwound a length of thin, black nylon, "I would be grateful if we might save further denigration for a time when I am _not_ bleeding all over your kitchen."

It was a half-hearted reproof at best, lacking any true bite, but Dev still took it fully to heart. Feeling suddenly and heartily guilty for ribbing him when he was in such bad shape—because he was, if possible, even more pale than he had been when she'd first seen him out in the yard—she turned to with renewed vigor.

"You're right. I'm sorry." She finished arranging the supplies, shifting anything currently unnecessary toward the far side of the counter. "We'll get started in just a sec."

Gabriel said nothing and after a moment, Dev looked up to find his slate gray gaze locked on the collection of curved surgical needles she'd set out next to the suture thread. For almost the first time in all the time she'd known him, the expression on his face masked nothing, his reluctance revealed in his furrowed brow and thin-lipped grimace.

"You are proficient with these tools?"

She was capable enough.

But she wasn't going to come right out and tell him that.

"Well, I once made a hand-sewn pillow for Home Ec when I was in high school. This can't be all that different, right?"

Gabriel shot her a withering look. "That is hardly reassuring."

"Good, 'cause I was more just going for funny."

"An all-around failure then."

"Do you want my help or not?"

"Not," he asserted, looking almost smug. "I believe I said as much. Repeatedly."

_Touché._

But she'd jump off a cliff before she acknowledged the verbal hit.

"So yeah…stitches." Dev spun away from him and crossed to the sink, a bottle of surgical soap and a clean towel clasped tight in her hand—she doubted infection was going to be an issue for him, but figured it was always wise to err on the side of caution. "Just let me scrub up and we'll be ready to get this show started."

The barely concealed huff from behind her made her smile. Annoying him was a little like the free-climbing she and her friends had dabbled in as teenagers—kinda dumb, but way too much fun not to try again.

"As you will," Gabriel snapped.

Dev would have laughed at the petulance fairly oozing from those words, but as soon as she turned away from the sink, drying her hands on the sack towel with a stylized J embroidered on the trailing edge, the laughter died on her lips.

Gabriel had shifted on the old walnut barstool; turned his back on her and exposed the rounded curve of his spine and the slump of his shoulders. He looked drained and tired and downright miserable. And with an unprecedented and inexplicable swell of plain old human intuition, Dev knewthat there was a heck of a lot more pressing down on those broad shoulders than mere physical pain.

And dear, sweet Christ Almighty, she was only just barely qualified to patch up the tangible wounds—she was in no way equipped to deal with anything that ran deeper. Helping was one thing, but playing shrink to an Archangel navigating the internal minefield of an emotional crisis was something else entirely. The idea alone was borderline bloodcurdling. She had never been worth a damn at the whole shoulder to cry on thing, her awkward discomfort always overshadowing her fumbling attempts at sympathy.

Lucky for her, Gabriel wasn't exactly the talk-it-out type. She was pretty sure he would be horrified by any attempt to sympathize, fumbling or not, so she decided that the best thing to do was to pretend her little mini-epiphany had never happened.

"Right," she squared her shoulders and tossed the towel aside. "First things first—I can't stitch up what I can't see. So let's str...," she pulled up short just behind his left elbow and let out an embarrassing squawk of a laugh. Swallowing down the words she'd been about to say, Dev cleared her throat and tried again. "Let's get that armor off."

It was one of the most awkward sentences she'd ever uttered, but it was a damn sight better than the _'let's strip you down'_ that had initially tried to trip off her tongue. Thankfully, her brain had caught up with her mouth in just enough time to save her from what would probably have wound up being one of the most mortifying moments of her life.

Gabriel didn't appear to have noticed her momentary discomposure—or that ridiculous laugh, thank _God_—and had focused instead on doing as she'd asked without a word of argument. Unusual for him and all too indicative of how miserable he really was underneath all the bravado.

As Dev watched him fumble at the clasp of the thick, leather strap that wrapped tight around his right bicep, she frowned. She'd almost forgotten about the hole in his left shoulder, so focused had she been on the much more pressing issue of the gaping stomach wound. She remembered now though, and felt, once again, that odd throb of empathy right in the center of her chest.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached out and gently batted his hand down. "Let me."

"You need not…"

"Gabriel." She looked him dead in the eye, calm, collected and uncompromising. "Let me."

He stared at her for another long moment and she stared right back; refused to back down—refused to even blink. Finally, he gave a single, sharp nod and let his left hand fall back to his side.

Dev was careful not to let her satisfaction show as she reached out toward him, feeling his eyes on her and knowing he would make the worst of even the hint of a smile. She slid her fingers beneath his bicep and made quick work of the clasp she found there. She then moved around to his other arm and repeated the process. Without a word, he shifted once more on the stool, presenting her with his back.

"Above my wings," he offered, "another beneath. Mind you do not injure yourself on the pinions, Navi."

The direction was welcome; the warning unnecessary. She was fully aware of how dangerous those gorgeous wings were, though there was something heartening about him feeling the need to caution her. For Gabriel, that had been almost…sweet.

"Careful, Gabriel," his back was to her, so she didn't bother to hold back her grin, "or I might start to think you actually like me."

"I would warn you not to make assumptions, but, all things considered," he reached out, fingering the straight end of the largest of the surgical needles laid out on the counter, "I rather think it is in my best interest to allow you your illusions."

Dev laughed, finally recognizing that dry-as-dust tone for what it was—Gabriel's own peculiar brand of wit. "Did you see that, by the way? You were funny and I laughed. Aren't you proud?"

Gabriel turned his head, catching her eye over his shoulder, his expression bland. "Truly, my cup runneth over, Navi."

"Smart ass," Dev cracked, giving him a light poke in the middle of his back, above the wings in question. "Now shut up and let me work."

Gabriel turned forward once more, but not before Dev caught the hint of a smile on his lips. And damn it, he really needed to stop doing that. She might have joked about him actually liking her, but with the smiling and the almost-but-not-quite-sweetness, she was coming annoyingly close to actually liking _him_.

_So not the time_, she chastised herself.

Stepping closer and ignoring every superfluous thought, she quickly found and released the clasp that sat just above his carefully folded wings. Mindful of his warnings, she slid her hand lower, having to navigate her way blindly through the layers feathers to find the clasp hidden away at his lower back. Ever so carefully, she searched until her fingers encountered the supple rasp of a leather strap and chased it toward where it ended in the skin-warm metal of the unseen clasp.

The feathers there, close to his body, were different from the pitch-dark pinions that were as useful in battle as they were in flight. These feathers were lighter, dove gray and pearlescent oyster and impossibly, almost criminally, soft. They grazed her skin, whispered across her knuckles and sent a delicious shiver up her arm, across the back of her neck and all the way down her spine.

But as distracting as the brush of that fine down was on her fingertips, it was nothing compared to the delicate scent that clung to them—to all of him, really. Sharp and loamy and faintly sweet, it was a mouthwatering marriage of fresh cut rosemary and muddled mint that set her senses alight.

He smelled better than anyone covered in blood and fresh from a fight had any right to smell.

Dev strangled a sudden urge to lean closer, to chase that intoxicating scent. After a moment spent wildly wondering what the hell had come over her, she snapped her focus back where it belonged, and when finally she had that hidden clasp undone as well, she moved around to face him, hoping she looked more unruffled than she felt. "Is that all of them?"

There was a pause, and if it had been anyone else, she would have sworn he looked uncomfortable. "Nearly."

_Nearly?_

"What else?"

"Belt."

A beat.

"Of course," Dev chirped, her voice going shrill as she tried not to sound flustered and failed miserably, "your belt!"

She couldn't think about it. Thinking about it was only going to make it worse. The best course of action was just to go for it.

Let it fly. Pedal to the metal. Balls to the wall.

_Fuck my life._

Dev sucked in a breath, took a step forward until she was standing between his knees—tried desperately not to let out another of those bizarre cackles—and dropped her hands to his belt.

And of course it was _this _clasp that didn't immediately give like the others had, but it was slick with blood and her fingers slipped and slid across the cool metal as she fought to keep her composure. By the time she worked it loose, she knew her cheeks were glowing red and only hoped he assumed it was from exertion.

"Got it," she crowed, far more triumphantly than the situation called for, but _oh dear Christ, _she'd just gotten all up close and personal with the Left Hand of God and there had to be some sort of blasphemy in that, didn't there?

He certainly didn't seem to think so, if the blankness of his expression was anything to go by. But then again, this was Gabriel. Perfectly, carefully blank was default mode for him. As she'd well seen already though, that nothingness could be deceptive. Most would probably even believe that it meant what it said on the wrapper; believe that he really was as cold on the inside as he was on the outside.

That was a mistake she herself had been guilty of, but after today would never again fall victim too. His reserve, that coldness he wore so well? Just another layer of armor, one he wore as well as he did any other—only beneath the skin rather than upon it.

And who could blame him for it? She'd read the Bible; even, thanks to Michael, the parts that had been lost to the ravages of time and the caprices of man.

Gabriel's, she had learned, were never the easy tasks.

With that thought fresh in her mind, Dev reached forward to fit her fingers beneath the pauldrons that now sat loosely upon his shoulders. Just as she was about to lift, Gabriel reached up and grasped her wrist, swallowing it within the circle of his fingers.

"I will do this. It is too heavy for you."

She frowned at him. "With the condition you're in, it's too heavy for you too."

"It will hurt," he acknowledged, "though I shall manage. I assure you that I have endured far worse, Navi."

He stood, releasing her wrist and in one swift motion lifted the breastplate and pauldrons over his head and deposited them on the floor beside him. After straightening back to his full height, he immediately dropped backwards onto the stool with a stifled grunt of pain.

Dev leapt forward, hands on his shoulders to steady him, any discomfort at their closeness wiped clean in the face of his obvious need. His shoulder was bleeding again and the slice in his midsection had yet to stop. Swearing sharply, she reached behind him and grabbed the pair of scissors she'd brought from the bathroom. "I'm gonna have to cut your shirt off," she warned. "I'm not letting you lift your arms again."

"I offer no complaints," he said quietly, his voice strained, "though I feel compelled to remind you that I have no other garments at hand with which to replace it."

"I'll figure something out," Dev dismissed, sliding the blade of the scissors beneath the sleeveless, shapeless tunic he wore and making quick work of the thick, wool-like fabric. Once she had both sides of it sliced from waist to neck, she set the scissors down and eased the blood-stiffened cloth over his head before tossing it carelessly behind her.

For the first time, she got a good look at the stomach wound. "Jesus _Christ_, Gabriel!"

"Language, Navi."

"Screw my language. How the hell are you still conscious?" She leaned down, prodding gently at the gash. "That's gonna need a lot of stitches."

He shrugged negligently. "Once more, the wound _needs_ nothing. It will heal on its own in due time. It certainly will not kill me, if that is your concern."

"So stitches won't make a bit of difference?"

He sighed. "They would hasten the healing process," he admitted—reluctantly she could tell. "But..."

"That's all I needed to hear," she cut in. "I joked earlier, but I grew up on a working ranch with a Pops who'd rather saw his own arm off with a dull butter knife than go to a doctor." She reached behind him again and picked up a needle and thread. "Two summers ago, he gashed his leg open on a section of fence he was trying to repair. I tried like crazy to get him to just suck it up and go see Doc Chambers at the very least, but the stubborn old fart wouldn't listen to me for anything. Damn leg ended up needing nearly twenty-five stitches. I fetched the Doc up here anyway the next day and he told me I did just about as good a job as he'd have done. So I should be able to handle this. No problem at all, right?"

Gabriel gave a snort that sounded very much like he was amused despite himself. "Are you attempting to convince me or yourself?"

"In all honesty, Gabriel, at this point I'm just attempting not to throw up all over your boots. Well, not really. I don't actually think I'm going to throw up. It's just a bit overwhelming, you know? This whole messed up deal is seriously overwhelming. I mean, this is a pretty big deal and I really don't wanna screw up, and…"

"Your nervous prattle is oddly comforting, Navi."

The long, curved needle was threaded and gripped tightly in her hand, but she paused long enough to shoot him a glare. "I've been telling you for years now, Gabriel—I've got a name. I know what I am and I really don't need you reminding me of it every time I turn around. So please, call me Dev."

Just that quickly, all trace of humor was wiped clean from his face.

"No."

Dev's lips thinned, annoyed. "Fine. Devlin, then. Hell, I'll even settle for Ms. Jacobs. Anything but Navi!"

"It is not my place to do so."

"Bullshit. Michael has always called me Devlin and I've never heard him say anything about it not being his place."

His expression darkened ominously. "I am not Michael."

She couldn't argue with that. He and Michael were different as night and day. If some rule about using her name existed, she had no trouble believing Michael had broken it—and even less trouble understanding that Gabriel never would. "Just…nevermind," she huffed almost beneath her breath, then stepped away from him and gestured toward the floor. "Lay down so I can get this over with."

Annoyingly, his chin came up. "I will stand."

"Yeah, because that's been working out so well for you this morning..."

"I will stand," he repeated, voice sharp.

"You'll fall over."

He lurched to his feet, knocking the stool over backwards as his wings flared out. One large hand came down heavily upon the counter top, his fingers wrapping around the edge until his knuckles shone white and the laminate beneath them groaned in protest. "Do not question my fortitude, Navi. I _will _stand."

She'd known he was a mountain of a man—far taller and broader than Michael, who was all lean lines and wiry strength. But as he towered over her and filled her entire field of vision until the kitchen completely disappeared and he was all she could see, she finally realized just how enormous he actually was.

"Christ Almighty, Gabriel..."

"If you must do this, Navi, then _do it,_" he snapped, patience officially spent. "And as before, watch your tongue."

There were about a hundred things she wanted to say to that, but all of them melted away the second her eyes met his. Yet again, the mask had slipped. But this time, it hadn't just stopped at a slip…this time it had abandoned him entirely. Gone was the remote gravity—the cold, disinterested propriety.

In its place was a look that was frustration and sadness and rage all swirled into one crippling maelstrom of feeling. It was an expression that lived and breathed. It drew her in, hypnotized her like nothing about him ever had before.

She knew, as she always knew these things, that all she had to do was reach out, touch his cheek, slide her fingers higher, higher, until the tips of her nails brushed back the fine black hairs at his temples and she would be able to _see_. See the hows and the whens and the whys of those breathtaking emotions. She would know his heart, know his mind, know his soul.

She would know _him_.

And, dear God, in that moment, she wanted to…

"Remember yourself," Gabriel's voice broke into her thoughts, harder and sharper than she'd ever heard it—which was saying something. "That is forbidden, as well you know."

She was about to ask him how he knew what she was thinking, but then she came back to herself enough to realize that her fingertips were hovering scant inches from his face. She pulled her hand back toward her chest, fingers curling into a tight fist.

"Sorry," she muttered after a long moment spent swallowing down her embarrassment. "Sometimes…well...that part of me, it sorta has a mind of its own. I'm working on it."

"Work harder, child."

Not a particularly harsh reprimand in word alone, but when paired with Gabriel's relentless severity and uncompromising conviction, it became dagger-sharp and cut straight to the bone. Devlin kept her eyes lowered, as put in her place as she'd ever been.

Because, for once, this wasn't just Gabriel being Gabriel. This was Gabriel being _right. _

Michael had explained the rules to her the very first time they met. He was the one who had made it abundantly clear that, when it came to using her particular gifts, he and those like him were strictly off limits. She'd accepted it without question, because, as rules went, it made an undeniable kind of sense and she'd never once been tempted to break it.

Until now.

She didn't know whether to blame herself, Gabriel or the situation as a whole. In the end, she supposed it really didn't matter whose fault it was. All that mattered was that Gabriel was right—things being what they were, she needed to have a firm handle on herself. Time was no longer a luxury she could afford.

So she sucked it up and squared her shoulders and forced herself to look Gabriel in the eye. "Ready for this?"

Gabriel nodded, and though his face remained rigid, she could feel him thaw just a bit. "Proceed."

With a fortifying breath, Dev put all other thoughts aside, inserted the needle and got to work.


	4. Chapter 4

**Exiles From Delight**

_We, unaccustomed to courage_

_exiles from delight_

_live coiled in shells of loneliness_

_until love leaves its high holy temple_

_and comes into our sight to liberate us into life_

_ ~Maya Angelou, Touched By An Angel_

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except what is mine.**

**Chapter Four**

Sixty-seven stitches, a full bottle of hydrogen peroxide, four packages of sterile gauze and two rolls of paper towels later, Dev stepped away from her patient to survey the results. It wasn't anywhere near as good as a doctor would have done, but she thought it looked pretty damn good. The wound was definitely closed. And she'd managed to keep the stitches neat and even.

Mostly.

Which reminded her…

"Is that gonna scar?"

"No," Gabriel affirmed absently as he too examined her work.

"Oh good…no worries then." Dev looked down at her hands and grimaced at the blood on them. "Ugh. Time for another scrub down."

On her way to the sink, her stomach let out an impressive rumble of complaint and she instinctively looked to the digital clock on the microwave before rolling her eyes at her own forgetfulness. They had a generator to power the essentials—and the microwave wasn't anywhere to be found on that particular list. Shifting her gaze out the window, she eyed the light and shadows. The morning was definitely getting on (ten, maybe ten-thirty…she wasn't nearly as good at this as Pops was), and neither she nor Pops had eaten any breakfast.

And then there was their new houseguest, who had abandoned studying her handiwork in favor of studying her instead. At present, he was eyeballing her with the same sort of baffled scrutiny that one would direct at a particularly disconcerting puzzle.

"Are you hungry?"

Gabriel blinked, his expression immediately shuttering. "All living creatures require sustenance; I am no different."

Dev wrenched the handle and shut off the faucet. "You could've just said yes."

"I thought I had."

_Jackass_, she thought.

"Of course you did," she said. "Do you like eggs?"

"They are sufficient."

"How about sausage? Bacon?" She paused, frowned. "Are you even allowed to eat them?"

Gabriel arched a brow. "An odd question, Navi. Why would I not be?"

She finished drying her hands on the kitchen towel hanging off the hook suctioned to the side of the refrigerator and glanced back at him over her shoulder. "I don't know...the whole kosher thing?"

"Those laws are not mine to obey. I eat what I will. And bacon will do."

"Eggs will be sufficient," she parroted back at him, already pulling out pans, "bacon will do. Does anything ever actually sound _good_ to you?"

"I do not understand the question."

Dev sighed and rolled her eyes. "Is there anything that you actually _enjoy, _Gabriel? Or is everything in your life just…adequate?"

Gabriel's expression blanked even further, rendering his face a stark study in lines and angles. "My life is my duty, Navi. The rest is immaterial."

She didn't believe him—not about the second part anyway. While she was sadly certain that he had little else in his life besides duty, she knew—_knew—_that it wasn't because he preferred it that way. More like, she suspected, he'd never had any choice in the matter.

But that was hardly something she was prepared to say to him.

"I guess that's one answer," she said eventually.

"It is the only answer."

She had no response to that, save a swift, non-committal, "Hmmm."

She set the pans she'd been holding down on the island, then turned and hefted the camping stove from the back counter and placed it beside the pans on the island so she didn't have to cook with her back to him. "Coffee? Would that suffice too?"

"You mock me."

"A little bit, yeah. And was that a yes or a no?"

"If you will."

_Oh good Goddamn._

"Fine."

It wasn't until she had the stove lit, the coffee on and bacon sizzling away in a pan that she turned her full attention back to him, once more trusting herself not to crack him over the head with Grams' cast iron Dutch oven. And what she saw, now that she was really looking and not preoccupied by his bullheadedness, was a man who'd been through the proverbial ringer.

There was a shadowy bruise beneath his left eye and a swiftly healing gash high on the left side of his forehead. The skin was split just below his right eye, along his cheekbone. His jaw at the right hand corner of his mouth was swollen and deeply purpled, his lip split and equally swollen in that same spot.

And that was just his face.

Her eyes drifted lower, tracing over his torso. The top half of his chest, aside from the shoulder wound, was unblemished—due, she assumed, to the armor he had worn. But where that had ended, so did the smooth, pale expanse of perfect skin. There was, of course, the wicked slash that stretched from just below his ribcage on the right to just above his hip on the left. Beyond that, his skin was peppered with cuts and bruises and burns. The damage extended to his arms as well, and she even noted one mark on his left bicep that looked suspiciously like a bullet wound.

Whatever had happened between him and Michael, it had clearly been one _hell _of a fight. He looked...

Gabriel moved then, his wings flaring ever so slightly, every muscle bared to the chilly air shifting and tensing and he looked...

He looked…

_Fucking. Gorgeous._

And wasn't that just criminally unfair?

This wasn't a new thing for her, this attraction. She'd long been of the opinion that Gabriel was about as perfect a specimen of maleness as she'd ever laid eyes on. The first time she'd found him waiting for her in Michael's place, she'd been seventeen and had nearly tripped all over herself.

Then he'd opened his mouth and the bud of a truly stupid teenaged crush had been well and truly nipped, his allure tempered by the fact that he was an arrogant ass.

But arrogant ass or not, she _really _needed to find him something to wear, because he was far too attractive for her peace of mind and she refused to spend the next few days harboring lecherous thoughts about the freaking Messenger of God.

"You are staring, Navi. And I fear you are ruining the bacon."

She jerked her eyes away from him at the same time that she yanked the frying pan off the burner. She dumped the bacon on a waiting plate and leaned forward to examine the pieces. "They're not burnt," she said quickly, guiltily. "Not really."

"Our definitions of burnt appear to differ greatly." Gabriel studied her through narrowed eyes. "What displeases you so about my person?"

How the hell was she supposed to answer that?

"What do you mean?"

"You are staring. What offends?"

"I…" Dev dropped her eyes, ran them over the countertop, the sink and then the camping stove. "Coffee's ready," she chirped, spinning around to grab mugs out of the cabinet. "How do you take yours?"

"Black."

_Surprise, surprise. _

"You have not answered my question."

She poured him a cup and slid it across the counter toward him before meeting his eyes. "Nothing offends and there is nothing displeasing about your person, Gabriel," and boy didn't _that _just sound all kinds of wrong. "It's just...you look like shit."

Gabriel's hand jerked, spilling coffee down the side of his cup. "Truly, you are too kind, Navi."

Dev grimaced and reached over to mop up the spill. "Sorry...I shouldn't have said it like that. I just meant that you look awful."

"Oh yes, that is imminently better."

There was that snarkiness again. She was tempted to tell him it looked good on him, but with as badly as she'd fumbled this conversation so far, she was pretty sure he would take it entirely the wrong way. "I give up. How do you want your eggs?"

"Unburnt."

_Jackass_.

"I'm gonna pretend I heard scrambled."

"As you will."

They were both silent after that—she fixing his breakfast, he sipping angrily at his coffee. Dev hadn't even known you could drink coffee angrily, but she figured if anyone could do it, he could. By the time she had plated his food and fished a fork out of the drawer, she was ready to try talking to him again.

"I didn't mean to offend you," she said quietly as she slid his plate in front of him. "I'm sorry if I did."

Her honest apology threw him, and she could actually see the anger drain from his face, leaving a thick, bone deep weariness behind. "Do not apologize," he said, sounding as tired as he looked. "I have done little enough to deserve the many kindnesses you have shown me this day," he picked up the fork and prodded at the food on his plate and a faint smile bent his lips, "even if you have burnt my bacon."

Two days ago—hell, two _hours _ago—if someone had told her she would be standing across her kitchen island from Gabriel, watching him eat a breakfast she had cooked him and listening to him toss out playful banter, she would have laughed in their face.

Now, it felt oddly...normal.

"Keep complaining and see what I do to your lunch."

His smile widened, spread all the way up to his eyes. "Perish the thought."

Dev couldn't help but match his grin with one of her own. "Shut up and eat your food before it gets cold."

In the end, he ate every bite. Even the bacon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Exiles From Delight**

_We, unaccustomed to courage_

_exiles from delight_

_live coiled in shells of loneliness_

_until love leaves its high holy temple_

_and comes into our sight to liberate us into life_

_ ~Maya Angelou, Touched By An Angel_

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except what is mine.**

**A/N: Thank you to those who have read. Thank you to those who have reviewed. I appreciate every single one of you immensely!**

**Chapter Five**

Her top priority, Devlin thought to herself as she dished up Pop's breakfast and tried very, _very _hard to keep her eyes to herself, was to find Gabriel something to wear.

Not that it looked to be all that high on his must-have list—in fact, he seemed supremely indifferent to the whole thing as he sat quietly at the counter, his full attention on the food in front of him; which, she supposed, made a certain sort of sense. It was her experience that the tendency to embarrass easily faded with age. If that was a general rule, then Gabriel was probably just about the most unflappable creature in existence. Because he wasn't just old; he was the kind of old that flew straight past antique, kept going way beyond ancient and ended up somewhere in the vicinity of primordial.

And she had to admit, blushing over a little partial nudity would have seemed downright silly coming from a guy who was there the day God created Adam.

She, on the other hand…

She wasn't old. She was young even by human standards. She might have seen a few unbelievable things because of what she was, but that didn't exactly make her worldly wise. She hated to call herself sheltered, because she'd never felt like she was; but she could count on one hand the number of times she'd been more than a hundred miles from the ranch, so she guessed she was just a bit on the sheltered side.

Which kinda explained all the blushing.

And the looking. Far too much looking.

But again—sheltered.

Her experience of the wonders of the universe was limited to the Rocky Mountains she'd grown up with and a high school trip to the Grand Canyon…but she was about two or three stolen glances away from adding _The Archangel Gabriel's Chiseled Abs_ to her list and that was something that she really didn't want to do for a whole heaping helping of reasons, not least of which being the whole Left Hand of God thing that had been giving her such fits earlier.

So...yeah. Clothes. The sooner the better.

The question was…where the hell was she supposed to find any?

Gabriel had over a foot of height and about sixty pounds of solid muscle on Pops, so that meant there was no point raiding his closest. The Elk Horn was the closest store that carried clothing, but the trip would take several hours on horseback and she had no idea what she would find once she got there…so that was out too. She supposed she could piece a couple of Pops' old shirts together Frankenstein style on her grandmother's antique Singer that she mostly knew how to use—even in her head, it looked a right mess…but hey, something was better than nothing, right?

She mentioned this plan, sad as it was, to Pops when she delivered his breakfast to him in his room. "So I'm gonna need a couple of your shirts, if you don't mind sharing."

Pops, already tucked contentedly into his food, snorted out a laugh. "Last time you tried to use that old thing, you sewed your thumb to the pillowcase you were making."

"I got it done eventually," Dev defended without any real conviction. "And it didn't look half-bad aside from the blood stain, and even that wasn't all that big."

"Hmmm," was all Pops said as he bit off a good sized chunk of bacon. "You know, baby girl, before you go playing seamstress, might wanna check the basement. God only knows what's all down there, but I'm fairly certain there's about eight decades of clothes in those boxes."

She hadn't remembered that until just then—but now that she did, she still didn't know how much help all that junk would be. "I don't know," she said as she sat on the edge of his bed and watched him devour his food, "Gabriel is…he's a big man, Pops."

"How big's big?"

Dev shook her head. "_Big _big. Six-five, six-six...maybe taller. And built like a brick house."

Chewing thoughtfully, Pops chased a mouthful of eggs with a big swig of coffee. "Well now, my great-uncle Samuel was about the biggest man I ever saw. Stood six foot eight in his socks and had a chest as big around as a damn tree trunk. I think there might be some of his old duds down there."

She'd heard stories about Samuel Jacobs, though he'd been dead for a very long time by the time she arrived on the scene. Apparently, he'd been a real prick, which was kinda funny, given the circumstances. She snickered. "Takes one to clothe one, I guess."

Pops looked up at her, expression bland. "I hope I wasn't supposed to laugh at that."

"Too blasphemous?"

"No," Pops shook his head, stabbing up another bite of egg, "it was just a lousy joke."

Dev stuck her tongue out at him as she moved toward the door.

"I'm gonna remind you of that next time you accuse me of treatin' you like a child."

She leaned back into the room and blew him a raspberry, just for good measure.

Pops hadn't been kidding about the basement. It was only as old as the current house that sat above it, but it held relics from every generation to ever work the land. One of the advantages of having a family as self-sufficient as hers had always been was that very little ever got thrown away.

Good times came and went and bad times were always lurking right around the corner; you never knew when something old was going to turn around and make itself useful once again.

On the other hand, that meant there was _a lot _to dig through, and it had taken her a good half an hour of searching before she'd finally found a box—marked in her Grams' neat hand—labeled Samuel John Jacobs, with what she assumed were his birth and death dates scrawled beneath.

Thank God for Grams and her meticulous housekeeping. Without them, she would have easily been at it for days.

She dropped the box on the floor of the living room, cheeks slightly pink from the exertion of hauling it up the stairs. Gabriel was perched on the edge of the couch and looked so far out of place amongst the threadbare furnishings that it was almost comical. He was silent as she knelt, tore the tape off the box and started pulling clothes from the depths of the cardboard container.

When she held up a garish red and green flannel shirt, eyeing both it and him measuringly, he found his tongue once more.

"You intend for me to wear that?"

Dev could hear the disapproval in his tone and lowered the shirt. "I intend for you to wear something, and this is all we've got." She paused, considered. "The wings are gonna be a problem."

"No, they will not be," Gabriel corrected, still frowning at the shirt.

"No?"

"No," he affirmed, and a moment later, those truly magnificent black wings simply…disappeared.

Dev blinked, staring at the sudden emptiness at his back and feeling oddly wrong-footed. "Well," she said at length, trying very hard to pretend that a suddenly far more _normal_ looking Gabriel didn't send her world even more off-kilter than it already was, "that's a handy little trick."

"Indeed," Gabriel shifted his shoulders, radiating discomfort. "It allows us to move freely amongst your kind when we must."

Dev arched a brow at him. "And exactly how often must you? Because the look on your face right now doesn't exactly read '_I do this all the time_'."

That earned her the shadow of a smile. "You are not wrong. It is a rare thing that I am called upon to walk the Earth in the guise of one of you. I confess I find this form…discomfiting." His expression turned sullen. "And I will find it all the more so were I to garb myself in _that_."

"Seriously? It's just a shirt, Gabriel."

"Be that as it may, I will not bend. Find something else."

Just what she didn't need right now—vanity flanked by ego and a whole lot of arrogance.

_Son of a bitch._

"Well forgive me, Oh High Holy One," Dev snapped, "but in case you hadn't noticed, we're not exactly overflowing with options at the moment. I don't have anything else, so you're just gonna have to suck it up and make do until I have the time and the opportunity to find something you'll find more acceptable."

"That garment is hideous, Navi. I will not wear it."

Dev took a moment at that, sucking in a deep breath to calm herself—she categorically refused to lose her patience over something as trivial as a shirt. "Last I checked, Gabriel," she commented as she very deliberately set the shirt in question on the floor and dug back into the box, "vanity falls under pride and pride is one of those Seven Deadlies that the Good Book warns about. Sounds like someone could do with a few Mea Culpa's."

She didn't mean anything by it, beyond being a smart ass. She certainly didn't intend for it to elicit the reaction that it did.

Gabriel's low, strangled chuckle sent a shiver down her spine and goose bumps chasing after it. Dev looked up in time to see his head drop into his hands, his elbows braced upon knees still encased in blood-stained leather. She dropped the clothes she was holding and plopped backwards, sitting on her heels.

He was muttering something into his hands, but too softly for her to hear.

And goddamn it, this was so not her thing.

"What's wrong now?"

_Definitely_ not her thing.

She'd been aiming for concerned, but that hadn't sounded anything but annoyed.

Luckily, he appeared to be far too wrapped up in his own misery to either notice or care about how much she sucked at being comforting. He lifted his head and Dev was absolutely horrified to see tears running down his cheeks.

"I am a disgrace."

That statement was just ridiculous enough to snap her out of her shock. She gave a supremely undignified snort of disbelief. "Yeah...I really doubt that. How the hell could _you _ever be a disgrace?"

He was shaking his head before she had finished speaking.

"You do not understand, Navi," his head dropped back into his hands, his fingers digging hard into his scalp. "Blinded by arrogance. Blinded by wrath. Blinded by vainglorious pride. I have failed."

...the hell?

"It's just a shirt," she said in a small voice, out of her depth and sounding it. "You not wanting to wear the damn thing hardly means you've failed anyone, most especially me."

He wasn't hearing her, too wrapped up in his own private miseries to pay her the least bit of mind and it suddenly occurred to her that this had nothing at all to do with her and everything to do with whatever had happened between him and Michael. It was a realization that she was actually quite proud of herself for making; she usually wasn't that intuitive.

And swift on the heels of that realization came the thought that she really should just stay out of it. Those were some dangerously deep and seriously murky waters to dive into for anyone, let alone someone as ill-equipped to handle it as she was.

But the sight of him, hunched over like he was, despairing and utterly defeated, set off every protective instinct she had…as well as some she hadn't even known were there. Suddenly, it no longer mattered that she was probably getting in way over her head, or that she sucked royally at empathy.

This wasn't some random stranger going to pieces in front of her eyes. It wasn't even an almighty Archangel who could smite her for her insolence.

It was just…Gabriel.

At some point over the past couple of hours, that had started to mean something very different than it had before. As silly as it sounded, they'd bonded in a weird and indefinable way, and while she still wouldn't go so far as to call them friends…they were more than the vague acquaintances they had been before.

And that meant that she couldn't just sit there and watch him fall apart.

Pushing up onto her knees, she shuffled forward until she was directly in front of him. Reaching out, she placed a hand on top of his lowered head, fingers resting lightly atop his ink-black hair. "I know there's a lot that's happened that I don't know about," she said, pitching her voice low and—she hoped—consoling. "But I can't believe you've failed anyone, Gabriel. I _won't _believe it."

For several very long moments, he was quiet, though she could feel him tense beneath her touch. Eventually, he lifted his head just enough to meet her eyes, the usual steel gray of his reduced to pale ash. "The child has been born, Navi."

That seemed an odd subject change, but she decided to go with it. "I know." Her hand had shifted when he lifted his head; dropping down to rest on the spot where shoulder became neck, just below the iron band that Michael had once explained symbolized their eternal devotion to the Father. It occurred to her that she should move it, but since he wasn't complaining, she let it stay there. "Or at least, I figured. Michael told me it was supposed to happen yesterday."

"You know then that He did not intend for the child to be born."

She didn't have to ask who _He _was. Not when she could hear the capital on the pronoun. She nodded. "Again, Michael told me. He said that was why he was going to do what he obviously did—protect the mother until the child arrived and stop the extermination."

"He disobeyed."

Dev cocked a brow at that. "Yeah, I guess he did. Can't say I'm not thankful. I sorta like being alive."

"I did not disobey, Navi."

There was an entire world of meaning packed into that one little sentence. Things she hadn't understood suddenly started to make sense. "He sent you to do what Michael wouldn't, didn't He?"

"And to deal with Michael, yes. As ever, I obeyed Him. As ever, I did so unquestioningly."

Her fingers, which had absently begun to play with the fine hairs at the nape of his neck, stilled, rested unmoving against the warmth of his skin. "That's when you and Michael fought."

Gabriel gave a short, sharp nod. "We fought. I killed him. And then I pursued the mother and child. Before I could carry out my orders, Michael descended, whole once more and carrying the message that Our Father had renewed His faith in man. That the child was safe...and that I, in my blind obedience, had failed Him."

Dev's hand dropped away then, falling into her lap as she frowned, suddenly angry on his behalf. "That's about the stupidest thing I've ever heard. _You_ failed because you followed orders? If the orders were wrong, seems to me that the one who failed is the one who gave them in the first place!"

Drawing backwards, Gabriel's expression was entirely outraged. "You dare to blame Him?"

"He tried to wipe me out of existence yesterday, Gabriel, so forgive me if I'm not feeling particularly generous toward Him at the moment," she said flatly and without a hint of apology. "And finding out that He's the sort of God that would condemn his most faithful servant just to save a little face just reinforces that. Honestly, if anyone failed anyone here, _He _failed _you_."

"You speak blasphemy, Navi."

"Wouldn't be the first time," she acknowledged with a shrug, "probably won't be the last. The point is that you can't blame yourself for following orders when they come from God himself. You believe in Him, so you believed in them. There's no shame in that."

Something cracked open in his eyes then; cracked open and _bled_. He looked more real, more _human, _than she'd ever imagined that he could.

"And if I did not believe in the orders? If I despaired of His decision as wholeheartedly as Michael and _still _obeyed? If I abhorred the task I was given and still did all within my power to see it done? What then?"

It occurred to her that she should be more upset by this conversation than she was. Here he was, admitting openly that he had fought like hell to kill an innocent baby yesterday, and the only thing she cared about was that _he _was hurting. But she understood far more than most what it meant to be a servant of God, even now, when her faith had been so thoroughly shaken.

And she simply could not condemn him for his submission.

She leaned in closer to him, her face inches from his. "Answer me this, Gabriel, since you've served him longer than any other creature in existence. When has disobedience _ever _been an option?"

They both more than knew the answer to that. So much so that it may as well have been a rhetorical question.

"Michael..."

"...is damn lucky," she cut in, the words harsh. "He defied _God_, Gabriel, no matter how right or how wrong he was to do it. I can't recall anyone else who did that who isn't rotting in Hell right now, can you?"

His silence was answer enough. She watched as he processed her words

"I do not know what to do, Navi."

He was looking at her with such despair, such desperate pleading that she felt her heart contract. Before she could stop herself, her hands were on his cheeks, cradling his face between her palms.

"First thing you need to do is stop blaming yourself," she ran her thumb gently over the nearly-healed split along his cheekbone. "Beyond that, all I can tell you is to just take things one step at a time. Sounds too simple, I know...but it's the best I can do for you."

When he lifted his right hand and rested it atop her left, pressing her touch harder against his cheek, she had the fleeting thought that this was _bad, bad, bad, bad. _But when he tilted his head, angling further into her touch, thought of any kind ceased all together.

"And I thank you for it, Navi," he murmured, voice low and deep. "You have shown me far more kindness than I expected, given the circumstances. And for that, I owe you a debt that can never be repaid."

"You don't owe me anything," Dev whispered, disliking the idea of him feeling beholden to her in any way.

She felt his smile, felt the way his lips thinned and curved against the palm of her hand. It made her shiver in all the right—_wrongwrongwrong—_ways.

"Will you accept my gratitude, at the very least?"

"Do I have a choice?"

He turned his face back to hers, his eyes once more a dark, steel gray and full of a heat that she understood, but couldn't even begin to believe. "As I have learned well this day…there is always a choice, Navi."

She licked her lips nervously and when his eyes flicked down to follow the movement, she just about died.

_This is bad, this is bad, this is bad, this is bad, you're going to hell, this is bad, you can't do this, this is bad..._

...and she was doing it anyway.

He leaned, she leaned, drawn to him like a moth to a flame and the inches between them shrank to centimeters...millimeters...

And then there came the sound of wings. Large wings. A thunderclap landing.

They fell away from each other; he against the cushions of the couch, she straight backwards onto her jean-clad rear. Staring at him, shocked yet gratified to see that he was staring back at her with the same disbelief that she knew was all over her face, Dev didn't know whether to be thankful for the interruption...or furious about it.

"Devlin!"

Michael's voice cut through the silence like the crack of a whip. Gabriel stiffened, all softness retreating at the sound of his brother's voice until he was once again the cold and distant creature she'd always known. It was jarring and it set her teeth on edge in an entirely different way than it would have in the past. But things were so very different now than they had been in the past—they were so very different from what they had been even ten minutes ago.

Decided, Dev narrowed her eyes at him, considering. "Is it safe to say you don't wanna talk to him right now?"

"Perfectly so."

"Right. Easy enough then." She jumped to her feet, pinned Gabriel with a stern, uncompromising look. "You don't move from that spot, you hear me? You don't say a word and you certainly don't come outside. I'll handle this and get rid of him as soon as I can."

Gabriel was frowning now, clearly confused. "But..."

"No buts," she interrupted. "I already told you that you're staying here until you're all healed up. I mean it even more now. So do us both a favor and just sit there and shut up, got it?"

He was almost smiling again—a ghost of a thing that was barely a smile at all. "As you command, Navi, so I obey."

Devlin snorted as she hurried into the mudroom. "You should fully expect to be reminded of that the next time you start arguing with me."

"I shall consider myself duly warned."

"See that you do." Dev yanked her coat from its hook, turning to look back at him again as she tugged it on. "While I'm gone, look through that box and try to find something not-hideous to wear. Hopefully there's at least one shirt in there that won't trigger a nervous breakdown."

Gabriel shot her a glare, but it lacked the conviction of true ire. "Are you always so rude?"

Dev grinned at him. "Not at all," she replied, sweet as spun sugar, after she'd zipped herself up, "sometimes, I'm asleep."

Without giving him an opportunity to answer, she slid out the door, shutting it firmly behind her, the image of his answering grin burned bright into her minds eye.


	6. Chapter 6

**Exiles From Delight**

_We, unaccustomed to courage_

_exiles from delight_

_live coiled in shells of loneliness_

_until love leaves its high holy temple_

_and comes into our sight to liberate us into life_

_ ~Maya Angelou, Touched By An Angel_

**Disclaimer: I own nothing except what is mine.**

**A/N: Still plugging away at this, hoping each part is as good as the last. Reviews are love!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

She'd barely made it down the stairs into the yard before she was snatched up into a rib-crushing embrace. She smiled and leaned into the hug as best as she could with her arms trapped at her sides. "It's good to see you too, Michael."

The Archangel in question released her as suddenly as he'd grabbed her and dropped a hand on each of her shoulders, his fingers digging into her jacket hard enough for her to feel them through the many layers of fabric. His close cropped blonde head bowed low so that he could meet her eyes. "You are well?"

She'd never had a big brother, but she figured it must feel something kinda like this and she couldn't help but smile. "I'm well," she affirmed.

"I was concerned."

"I can tell. And so can my shoulders."

He took the hint and loosened his grip, though he did not release her. "I saw the bodies in the yard and I thought the worst."

Dev felt her stomach turn at the reminder. _All those good people..._

"That would explain all the shouting," she forced out, trying to sound normal and failing miserably if his pained look of sympathy was anything to go by. "You likely scared my Pops half to death. I'm surprised he's not out here with his shotgun already."

"My apologies," Michael said, sounding far from repentant, "but I was concerned, as I said. You are far too important to lose, Devlin. Especially now."

_That_ dimmed the good will she was feeling toward him. "You know, Michael, you sure know how to make a girl feel special. I love being reminded that I'm only as important as the purpose I serve."

The look he gave her spoke volumes, fondness mixed with mild reproach and she knew she wasn't going to be able to stay angry with him for long. "You have a part to play in what is to come, and I have a vested interest in the outcome. It is an unavoidable fact. But you know perfectly well that I was concerned for you yourself, Devlin."

Dev rolled her eyes and shook off his hands. "Yeah, I know you were," she admitted, walking a few steps further out into the yard. "I assume you have a whole hell of a lot to tell me, so if you don't mind, let's go into the barn. It's too damn cold out here."

"Can we not go into the house?"

"Pops," Dev reminded him, glad to be able to have such a convenient lie on hand. Michael well knew her desire to keep her grandfather wholly separate from this part of her life.

Unfortunately, the excuse didn't carry the weight that it once had, seeming almost ridiculous in light of everything that had happened. Judging by the frown on his face, Michael knew it too.

"Even now, after all that has occurred, you would still attempt to..."

"The state of affairs between me and my Pops is none of your concern, Michael," she snipped, cutting him off cold. "_I'm_ going into the barn. If you have anything important to tell me, you'd best follow me."

She started off across the yard without bothering to look back, already knowing that he would be at her heels. She trudged through the snow toward the barn, careful to give the stables a wide berth—the horses did not take kindly to her heavenly visitors, a fact she had learned the hard way several years past when Michael had ducked into the barn to avoid being seen by Pops and they'd very nearly had a stampede on their hands.

Once inside the barn, she stood aside to let Michael in and then pulled the sliding door shut behind them both; that done, she dropped down onto the nearest bale of hay and gave her full attention to God's General. "So the child lives," she said without preamble. "You did what you said you were gonna do and the child is safe…and here you are in all your Heavenly splendor to tell me about it. I gotta say, Michael, I'm kinda surprised—I figured you'd be bruised, broken and hell-fire crispy by now."

"That mirrors my own expectations almost perfectly," he agreed, coming to stand before her with his legs apart, arms behind his back in an at ease position, the unconscious stance of a man who'd spent the past several millennia as a soldier. "I never dreamt that I would survive this intact. In all honesty, I had not imagined I would survive it at all."

"Not to be morbid, but I didn't figure you would either." Her earlier conversation with Gabriel still fresh in her mind, she gave him a considering look. "How exactly did you manage to avoid getting turned into Satan's newest roommate?"

His stance changed, chest puffing out in what looked remarkably like self-satisfaction. "In the end, He recognized that even in my disobedience I served Him—and far better than any of His other children. It is true that I defied Him, but it would have been a far greater crime to have hidden my convictions behind unquestioning obedience."

If she hadn't already heard Gabriel's side of the story, she probably would have been as proud of him as he clearly was of himself. But she had heard it, and all she could see when she looked at him was exactly what she'd told Gabriel earlier—one lucky son of a bitch. She figured he could afford to be told as much.

"You, Michael, are the luckiest son of a bitch in all of Creation."

Apparently, that had not at all been what he'd expected to hear. His brow knit and he regarded her with eyes suddenly hooded with confusion. "Why, exactly, is that cause for anger? I had expected you would be pleased that luck had landed so firmly on my side."

"I'm not mad because you're lucky," Dev clarified, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm mad because it doesn't seem like you're fully appreciative of just how lucky you were."

"I can assure you that I am well aware of my good fortune, Devlin." He sounded just this side of angry now, which was a first. She couldn't recall ever seeing Michael angry before. "And I hardly needed you to remind me of it."

"Well it sure sounded like you needed _someone _to remind you of it. That head of yours gets any bigger and you aren't gonna fit it back out the door of this barn."

Michael was frowning at her now, his anger melting back into confusion. "This does not sound like you, Devlin. Where has this irritation with me come from? Have we not always been good friends, you and I?"

And he was right. Theirs had been a comfortable, easy friendship right from the beginning. She'd gotten him, he'd gotten her and they'd barely ever had a cross word between them. On the other hand, she and Gabriel had _never _gotten along properly—oil & water rather than the peas & carrots that was her relationship with Michael.

But all of that, as with everything else in her life now, had suddenly changed. She'd gained an entirely new appreciation for Gabriel and a little more perspective on Michael.

That didn't mean she should just forget everything she'd always known to be true about one of the oldest friends she had. He was still the same Michael he had always been...she just maybe understood him a little better now. Understood that he, like Gabriel, was hardly infallible.

She shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry, Michael," she said quietly, chastened. "That was rude and I'm sorry. It's just..." she lifted her eyes to his and gave a little shrug, "...it's been a hell of a time, y'know?"

And just that quickly, they were again as they had been. Something amazingly like friends, and every inch comrades, both of them mere threads in a far greater pattern.

Michael moved to her side, seated himself on the bale of hay beside her, his wings tucked close to his body. "You have an amazing gift for understatement, Devlin."

She snorted out a laugh, smiled and nudged him playfully with her shoulder. "I really am glad you're ok, you know. Sorry if it didn't seem like it before."

His smile was warm and kind and the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkled in a way that made her smile all the wider in return. "All things considered, I suppose I shall have to forgive you."

As they sat there, engulfed in an atmosphere of friendly companionship, Dev noticed for the first time that he looked exactlylike he always had. _Exactly._

"I think it's safe to assume you had to fight like hell to make this all work out the way it did."

"I did," his expression went somber. "Believe me, I did."

"Can't tell by looking at you," she tilted her head to the side, looking closer, searching for some sign of the damage that covered nearly every inch of Gabriel. "I don't see a single scratch."

"That...is where things get complicated. I do not have the time to explain the entire situation in detail at present, Devlin...but suffice to say, I looked far worse than this before the Father stepped in on my behalf."

Dev gave him a blank look. "What does that mean?"

Michael sighed deep and his shoulders drooped. "As you say…I fought. I fought and, ultimately, I lost. I fell and was utterly defeated, but then…I cannot rightly describe it even now, for it was an experience like none I have ever known nor ever imagined I would know. The Father came to me—He lifted me to his side and, in His infinite wisdom, He made me whole once more."

All of Dev's good will was swiftly being carved out and replaced with fresh anger, though not at Michael. Not this time.

"God healed you," she ground out, the words sharp enough to cut. "After you directly disobeyed Him and actually fought _against _Him, God just picked you up, dusted you off and decided to act like nothing had happened?"

"I do not know that I would describe it exactly like that..."

"What about the other guy?" Dev cut in, figuring it was time to do a little fishing since Michael was being uncharacteristically close-mouthed about the details. "I assume that whoever you were fighting was just following orders, so how'd he fair? Same deal? Dad breaks up the backyard brawl, applies the band-aids then goes back to watching the football game?"

Michael looked away, eyes anywhere but on her. Dev kept hers planted on him though, taking note of the way the muscle along the side of his jaw went taut with sudden tension.

"You, Devlin," Michael began, his tone oddly subdued, "have the most remarkable way of putting things."

"That's not actually an answer to my question, Michael."

"There is no answer to your question," Michael shot back, beginning to sound annoyed, "at least, none that I am willing to give. The events of last night are none of your concern. Satisfy yourself with the knowledge that the battle has been won, the child lives and hope for humanity has been restored."

It was a pretty speech. A true speech. And if she hadn't already known the whole truth, she would probably have been entirely satisfied by it. But the problem was…she _did _know the whole truth and while she couldn't actually say that Michael had lied, he certainly hadn't been entirely truthful either. In her book, being mislead was just as bad as being outright lied to, and it was really starting to make her angry.

And getting angry really was the last thing she needed to do at the moment.

She'd never been good with secrets—save her own enormous one. Really, it was probably better to say that she had never been any good with other people's secrets. Mostly because, as soon as she got good and worked up, wordshad a tendency to just sort of…fallout of her mouth.

Usually the wrong words.

Like now.

"What an absolute crock of shit," she barked out. "You go against orders, breaking every single rule in the book and what happens? God smacks you in the face with his handy-dandy-healing-sport-coat while flowers and kittens and rainbows rain from the heavens and. And then Gabriel—who has only ever done everything he's ever been told to do since the beginning of fucking _time—_once again does everything he's told to do and God's too busy hanging your picture on Heaven's Employee of the Month wall to do anything except let him bleed!"

Yep, there it was. The _wrong thing _had just poured out of her mouth and spilled out all over the place.

Son of a Mother.

Michael was instantly on point, his eyes boring into hers with staggering intensity. "You have seen Gabriel?"

Back-peddling fiercely, Dev attempted to direct the conversation away from her unhappy houseguest. "Really? _That's _what you took from that? I clearly need to work on my delivery…"

"I asked you a question and you _will _answer it," Michael interrupted, on his feet and somehow managing to look much bigger than he actually was. "Have you seen Gabriel?"

She knew enough of him to see that there was no point pretending. Of course, that didn't mean she had to blab the whole truth either. If half-truths were good enough for her, then they could be good enough for him too. "I have."

"Devlin, you _must _tell me what you know of him. He has not returned Above since..." his voice trailed off, the words seeming to die on his tongue. Michael swallowed hard and turned slightly away, eyes straying to the single window high up on the west side of the barn. "He is greatly missed, Devlin."

"Not so greatly from what I saw of that stomach wound. He'd have been better off if he'd been missed a whole helluva lot more than he was."

Michael rounded on her, all Archangel and little friendliness to be found. "Do not play games with me, child. If you know where he is..."

"I certainly wouldn't tell _you_," Dev interrupted, "since you're the one who nearly cut him in half!"

Sucking in an involuntary breath, Michael surged toward her, wings flaring. "You have done more than see him—you have spoken to him. And at length, it would seem. Where is he, Devlin?"

Dev pushed herself off the hale bale, not in the least cowed by his show of force. She'd already gone toe-to-toe with one Archangel today, and Michael was nowhere near as intimidating as Gabriel. "That's none of your business, General Jackass. All you need to know is this—he doesn't want to see you."

"How do you know that?"

"I saw it in a vision."

Amazingly, Michael actually paused at that. "Did you really?"

Dev rolled her eyes. A lot. "No, you idiot...he _told _me he didn't want to see you. So you're just gonna have to wait until he's ready. You're gonna have to give it him some time, Michael."

"Time?" Michael scoffed. "Time for what?"

"Time to heal," Dev answered, a touch coldly. "You really did a number on him, you know that?"

Remembering that Gabriel had done more than his fair share of return damage, she felt a little guilty at the honest regret that colored Michael's response…

"His wounds..."

"...have been taken care of," she assured, her voice once again leveling out to something resembling friendly. "But that's not really what I was talking about. He's sliced up even worse on the inside than on the outside. He needs some time to sort some things out in his head."

"That is exactly why he must return Above," Michael insisted. "He will find the solace he seeks at his Father's side, amongst his brethren."

Dev shook her head. "I really don't think that's a good idea, Michael. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that's the very _last _thing he needs right now. I really think he's better off just staying where he is for the time being."

Michael was looking at her oddly, puzzled and irritated in equal measure. "Gabriel has been my brother since time immemorial, and yet you imply that you—whose own experience of him is remarkably limited—understand him better. It rather begs the question of how, exactly, you have gained such astonishing insight."

She immediately recognized the accusation glaring out at her from behind the blue of his eyes. "I did _not _read him, Michael," she snapped, returning his glare in kind. "I know better than that."

Never mind that she _nearly_ had—Michael didn't need to know about something that had only _almost _happened.

"I have known you since you were a child, Devlin, and you possess the emotional acuity of a lobotomized sociopath. If you did not read him, then how do you know what he needs with such certainty? I highly doubt Gabriel himself told you all of that!"

"First of all," Dev glared at him, arms crossed over her chest defensively, "I may not be able to tell how someone's feeling just by breathing the same air that they do, but I'm not as bad as you're implying, though you do earn a few creativity points for the whole lobotomized sociopath thing." She closed her eyes and rolled her head, attempting to ease some of the tension in her neck and shoulders. "Second, as to how I figured it out…"she paused, looking up at Michael and giving a helpless shrug. "I honestly don't know. I just…I _get_ him, Michael. I don't know why I do, because I certainly never did before and I have no idea what's changed. But obviously something has. When it comes down to it, I just need you to believe me when I tell you that he's not ready to go home yet."

To her surprise, that actually seemed to work like nothing else had. He must have heard the truth in her voice, because Michael deflated, head dropping and wings drooping. "Will you at least tell me where he is? If he does not wish to be seen, then I will respect his wishes. But I would prefer to know where he is all the same."

Dev shook her head again. "Sorry, but until he greenlights it, none of that information will be forthcoming. I know it's frustrating, but he really wasn't prepared for how everything went down between you two."

"Which is precisely why I need to see him!"

"It's also precisely why he doesn't want to see you."

"You realize," Michael said, his frustration clear in his tone, "that I was not alone in acting regrettably, Devlin. Gabriel is not the only injured party in this situation."

"Yeah, yeah, he done you wrong too. I am well aware of that."

"Did me wrong?" Michael echoed the words in utter amazement. "He did far more than that…he _killed _me, Devlin!"

"Only a little bit," she dismissed, tucking her hands into her pockets. "And you got better."

"Devlin!"

"What?" Dev snapped. "What do you want me to say, Michael? Yeah, he killed you. So what? That doesn't change anything. I'm still not gonna tell you where he is or let you see him."

Michael actually took a step back from her at that, looking momentarily stunned, and then swiftly irate, lips compressing in a thin, angry line. "You will not _let _me? _You _will not let _me_? Who are you to _stop _me?"

"Who am I?" Dev was tired, her head had begun to throb again, and she was as done with this conversation as she was going to get. "I'm the person he came to for help when he didn't know where else to go," she said simply. "And if that doesn't answer your question, then I'm sorry, but I've got nothing else for you."

Letting out a growl of frustration, Michael ran a hand over his eyes. "I do not like this! I do not like this at all!"

"Sad to say, but that doesn't change a damn thing. I couldn't honestly care less if you like it or not."

"Well, I _don't_."

"Sucks to be you then."

Dev brushed her hands down the front of her coat, double checking the zippers and fully intending to walk away without another word. Michael interrupted her exit with a hand on her arm. She stopped, grudgingly, and looked up at him.

"Do we really have to keep at this, Michael?"

He did not look at all happy—but there was resignation in his face that had not been there before. "You must tell me this at the very least…is he well?"

"I wouldn't go that far," Dev said quietly. "But I think it's safe to say that he's as well as can be expected, all things considered."

Michael sighed. "I suppose that is better than nothing at all."

Dev gave him a tired smile. "I suppose it's gonna have to be, because that's all you're getting."

She was about to pull away and head back to the house, but Michael tightened his grasp on her arm, halting her before she'd even begun.

"There is more I must tell you."

Sighing, her head dropped, chin falling to her chest. "I don't know if I can handle more right now, Michael."

"I'm afraid you have little choice in the matter. The child lives, Devlin. You know what that means."

She had known Michael long enough and well enough to be able to hear all the words he didn't say. And the ones he tended not to say were generally the most important ones of all. "It means I've got a job to do, and that it's finally time for me to do it," she acknowledged, giving him a nod. "How long do I have?"

Michael relaxed at her easy compliance, his grip loosening. "If my instructions have been followed, they should be here within the week. And I have every confidence that my instructions will be followed."

"Of course you do," Dev commented, finally shrugging him off. "You said 'they'. How many should I be expecting? It's not a terribly big house, you know."

"There will be three—the child, of course. His mother—Charlie—and the Protector—Jeep—should be with him, if all has gone well with them. And I would hazard to say that one bedroom should be all that they will need."

It was only a three bedroom house. She would think about those logistics later, when her head didn't feel like it was about to split open. "I can make that work."

"I have every confidence that you will."

"Thanks."

She was nearly out the barn door when his voice, calling her name, stopped her once more. She didn't turn around.

She didn't need to.

Everything she needed to know, she had heard in the way he'd said her name, all supplication and entreaty and true, honest worry. It made her that much more inclined to keep liking him as much as she always had.

"Don't worry, Michael," she assured him gently, cocking her head and meeting his eyes over her shoulder. "I promise I'll take damn good care of him. I'll give him everything he could possibly need and then some."

"I know you will..."

She was to the door now, her hand brushing against the rough-hewn wood, when Michael's parting shot stopped her in her tracks.

"…and that's what worries me."

_I didn't hear that, _she told herself firmly, forcing herself to start walking—ordering herself not to look back. _He didn't say it, and I didn't hear it and I'm not not not going to ask him what he means by it._

Because if she didn't ask, he wouldn't tell; and if he didn't tell, she could keep pretending that she had no idea what he meant.


	7. Chapter 7

**Exiles From Delight**

_We, unaccustomed to courage_

_exiles from delight_

_live coiled in shells of loneliness_

_until love leaves its high holy temple_

_and comes into our sight to liberate us into life_

_ ~Maya Angelou, Touched By An Angel_

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: I own nothing except what is mine.<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

She could tell as soon as she walked into the living room that things had changed. Again.

Gabriel stood at the far side of the room, arms folded across his chest as he stared silently out at the yard from between two hastily nailed up boards. He looked grim—which was nothing new; he usually looked grim—and everything about him once more screamed _unapproachable_. It was a little bit jarring, because for a little while there, he…hadn't been either. At the same time, she found she couldn't truly regret the regression.

Because while it was a little saddening, it was also a whole hell of a lot reassuring. _This _was the Gabriel she had known. _This _was the Gabriel she knew how to handle. That other Gabriel was an unknown quantity.

And she was too tired to even attempt that kind of math right the moment.

On a lighter note, he'd found something to wear—another relief. All that pale skin and stunning musculature was now hidden away behind a well-worn gray and black plaid shirt. It was too tight across his shoulders, hung like a tent around his midsection and looked entirely out of place on him, but it was imminently better than him wandering around half-naked.

"I see Old Uncle Samuel came through in the end," she said, breaking the silence. "Though I'm not sure you're really a plaid kinda guy."

Gabriel didn't even turn, just continued to stare out into the yard. "It will suffice."

Dev sighed, at once disappointed and comforted by his detachment. "Michael's gone," she said, rather than running once more into the brick wall of his fatalism.

He nodded once, barely. "I know. I saw. You have my thanks, Navi."

"Yeah, well…I'm not so sure I deserve any," she warned, perching herself on the arm of the sofa and planting her hands on her jean-clad thighs. "It wasn't exactly a mission accomplished moment, I'm sorry to say. My plan was to go full Sergeant Schultz—all 'I-know-nothing' minus the German accent. Unfortunately though, my mouth got ahead of my brain and I wound up singing like a damn canary. He knows you're here."

Gabriel still did not turn, only shrugged, the movement looking decidedly odd on his wingless form. "I am hardly surprised. Your tongue has ever been your downfall, Navi."

Dev narrowed her eyes, nonplussed by that assessment. "Gee, thanks."

He ignored her sarcasm. "That he knows where I am is immaterial. That he is gone is all that I care about at present."

"In that case, you're welcome."

He did turn around then, and she couldn't pretend that she wasn't at least mildly disappointed by the distance in his eyes. "I am tired. I would sleep now. You will tell me where."

Dev's eyes narrowed. At the best of times, his tendency to order her around like a servant got her back up. And today was hardly the best of times.

"Sure thing" she threw him a wide and entirely fake smile, "but I'm pretty sure you're not gonna like where I tell you to go."

There was a flare of _something _in his eyes at that, but it was gone again almost instantly. "I am sorely lacking in patience at present, Navi. Do not mistake my earlier…"

The pause was telling and she watched him search for an appropriate word—_excuse—_with an arched brow and a growing sense of satisfaction. It was sad to admit, but knowing he was just as thrown by…whatever that had been…made her much more willing to forgive him for being such a prick.

That didn't mean she was going to let him off easy though.

"What?" She gave a small shake of her head, her expression challenging. "Don't stop now. Don't mistake your earlier…what?"

Gabriel's expression hardened even further, until he was once more all Archangel. "Lapse of judgment," he bit out, voice cutting. "Do not mistake my earlier lapse of judgment for anything but what it was…an error. A reckless, ill-considered and utterly inconsequential error."

She told herself it didn't hurt to hear it, because she knew that deep down, he didn't mean it. But it still stung a little and she couldn't keep the frown off her face. "Yeah, I figured it would be something like that."

Standing up, she stalked over to the box that was still sitting in front of the couch. Reaching in, she fished out the first pair of pants she found. "My room's the first door on the right down the hall. You're welcome to it. But change out of those pants before you touch the bed," she snapped, balling the faded old Levi's up and tossing them his way with just a little more force than was absolutely necessary. "I'd rather you didn't get blood on my sheets."

He plucked the jeans out of the air, tucked them beneath his arm without even glancing at them, and was staring at her now with an odd air of reluctance. "Is there nowhere else?"

"No, there's not," Dev said, entirely unapologetic. "Not since I've gotta start getting the guest room ready to receive visitors."

Gabriel frowned, the chill thawing slightly. "Visitors?"

She'd been trying to figure out how she was going to relay this little nugget of information, knowing very well that it was going to cause all kinds of issues. For the first time, she felt nothing but thankful for his withdrawal. Being pissed at him allowed her the freedom to just toss it out there without feeling the least bit concerned about how he was going to take it.

"Yeah, visitors," she crossed her arms over her chest. "I've got that whole sacred purpose thing to do, Gabriel. Don't tell me you've forgotten about it? You've only been trying to pound my responsibilities into my head since I was sixteen."

She hadn't thought it was possible, but he paled even further when her meaning became clear. "The child is coming here."

"Got it in one," she said with a nod. "According to Michael, the baby, his mother and the protector should be here sometime in the next week. It's kind of a big window, so I figure it's best to get everything ready as soon as possible."

Gabriel was staring past her and she could almost see all the wheels turning inside his head. "It will be best," he said eventually, "if I left before their arrival. They will not appreciate my presence."

Dev refused to contemplate why that bothered her, though she couldn't pretend that it didn't. "Probably not," she acknowledged, "but you're not going anywhere. They might not like it, but they'll learn to live with it."

"You wish for me to stay?"

She only barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I thought we'd already covered that? You're a…well…you're sort of a friend, Gabriel. I'm not about to kick you to the curb after what you've been through. And besides, you and I both know that things are gonna get real dangerous for that kid, real quick. Having you around to play bodyguard while we figure this whole thing out will be a huge weight off my shoulders."

That got him thinking; she could tell by the tiny line that creased the skin between his eyes. She let that primeval brain of his whir away for a few long moments.

"So what do you think?" she asked once she figured she'd given him sufficient time to ponder the subject. "Would you mind being the muscle of this operation for a little while?"

He didn't answer right away, but after another lengthy pause, he nodded. "If they can be persuaded to accept it, I will stay. I believe I owe them that much at the very least."

The creak of a door sounded through the otherwise silent house like a gunshot. Both Dev and Gabriel turned toward the sound instinctively, two sets of eyes drawn down the hallway.

"Devlin, honey," Pops called, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant, "you there?"

Dev moved to the end of the hallway, smiling at the sight of her bold, brash grandfather peeking out from behind the half-open door of his bedroom like a truant child. "I'm here, Pops."

"This room's feelin' smaller by the second, baby girl. Think I might come out now?"

She looked over her shoulder, the question in her eyes. Off Gabriel's single, sharp nod, she turned back. "Sure," she said with a beckoning wave, "so long as you're feeling up to it. Now's as good a time as any for introductions, I guess."

The door swung all the way open and Pops was down the hall faster than she'd imagined he would be, a mixture of eagerness and wariness on his face. He paused just at the threshold where hallway became living room, sucked in a deep breath, and then stepped forward into the room to stand just beside Dev. She could see the moment his eyes found Gabriel—was thrown by the look of almost child-like wonder that lit his face.

She forgot, sometimes, that her Heavenly visitors were something amazing. They'd become such a fixture of her odd existence that she was no longer floored by their very presence. But this moment, seeing him like this, it reminded her of those first few meetings all those years ago. She imagined she'd probably worn a similar expression back then. My, how things did change.

"Pops," she said softly, reaching out wrap a hand around his plaid covered bicep (blue and white and orange and as natural on him as stripes on a tiger), "this is Gabriel. Gabriel, this is Nathaniel Jacobs…my Pops."

Gabriel, to her surprise, dipped his head—deferential where she'd expected aloof superiority.

"It is a very great honor to meet you, sir," he said, stepping forward and extending his hand in unmistakable greeting.

Pops, his company manners well ingrained, immediately reached out and clasped the proffered hand accordingly. "I thank you for the kindness, but I really think in this case the honor's all mine…"

There was a pause and Pops frowned, the old gears quite obviously cranking hard.

Dev was just about to jump in when Gabriel beat her to the punch.

"Please…call me, Gabriel."

The old fashioned etiquette that Pops had been raised on clearly balked at that, his expression going taut with discomfort. "Don't know if I'll manage that, but I will surely try if that's what you'd like."

Gabriel, surprising the hell out of her once more, actually smiled. "I would…but I shall appreciate the attempt, even should it ultimately prove futile. Now if you will excuse me, sir," he turned slightly, dipped his head in her direction. "If you have need of me, Navi, do not hesitate to wake me."

Thrown by this downright polite version of himself, Devlin could only nod and her eyes never strayed from his back as he retreated down the hall and disappeared behind the door of her bedroom. The man was full of enough twists and turns to make a mystery writer cry uncle. She knew there was far more to him than there seemed to be, but if he didn't slow down with all this to'ing and fro'ing, she was afraid she was gonna come down with a bad case of emotional whiplash.

"You weren't foolin' when you said he was a big man, were you, baby girl?"

Shaking off her reverie, Devlin turned to face her grandfather. "Gabriel inspires a lot of things, Pops…foolin' around isn't generally one of them."

Pops grinned, weather-beaten skin crinkling all over. "A stern one then, huh?"

Dev snorted out a laugh, moving forward to throw her arms around her Grandfather's neck, hugging him tight. "You really have no idea," she muttered as she settled her cheek into the hollow beneath his ear.

Most days, Nathaniel Jacobs was not the hugging type. He would accept them because he loved her, but he'd been raised on a steady diet of old-fashioned masculinity and pure, rugged individualism, which didn't leave a whole lot of room for public displays of affection. But today, he didn't even flinch, just slid his arms right back around her and squeezed her just as tight.

"How you holdin' up, honey?"

Dev let out a deep sigh, snuggling even closer into the simple comfort of his embrace. "As well as I can," she answered honestly. "This…all of this…it's a lot to take in. I mean, I've barely managed to wrap my brain around yesterday and now tomorrow is already banging hard on the door."

"I heard you mention somethin' about visitors to…" he paused, swallowed, "…to _Gabriel_."

She felt again that fierce swell of pride—he was handling it all so much better than she'd ever dreamt he could and she had no words for how much that meant to her. She decided then and there that, from that moment on, it was all honesty between them, all the time. He'd proved himself more than capable of dealing with anything she threw at him. "I did," she acknowledged. "They'll be here sometime soon—three of them; a baby, a mother and a protector. In fact, they're the reason all that happened yesterday. Or, at least, the baby is."

Pops just kept hugging her. "What's wrong with the baby?"

"Nothing," Devlin said, voice turning bleak, "aside from God deciding that he shouldn't be born."

Pops squeezed her a little tighter, sharper. "Don't know that I like that tone of voice when discussing the Almighty, Devlin Anne."

Now Dev pulled back, giving Pops a look. "Well since it was the Almighty that sent armies of Angels to end the world because He decided to downgrade humanity from hot to not, I think I have the right to use whatever tone I see fit when discussing Him."

"The Good Lord works in mysterious ways, honey. It's not up to us to question His wisdom."

Devlin laughed, but it was a brittle thing. "I'm the prophet and you're the one sounding like a true believer. I think I might be doing this wrong."

Pops shrugged. "It's been a hell of a time," he said, always, always on her side. "I'm sure He understands, though I'd prefer you didn't get too blasphemous."

"He sent Gabriel to kill a baby, Pops. _A baby_. I don't know how to be ok with that."

She could see that left a mark; could see the way Pops flinched. She wasn't proud of it, but she needed him to see things a bit clearer.

"I'm sure He had His reasons."

Dev snorted. "You've got way more faith than I do these days. After everything I've heard from Michael and Gabriel…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

Pops leaned back away from her, eyes on her face. "Well then I reckon you best fill me in on all the details while we spruce up that guest room. Your Grams'd have my head if I didn't at least make an effort to have the house all set to rights when the Savior and his Mama are on their way." He quirked a grin. "Or at least, I assume that's who we're talkin' about here."

"Look at you, being all insightful."

"Don't worry, darlin'," Pops said as he ushered her ahead of him toward the hall and the haphazardly put together guest room, "I'll do my best not to make a habit of it. I know how much you count on me not to ever figure out that two plus two equals four."

Devlin tossed him a dark look. "That was sarcasm. When did you learn how to use sarcasm?"

"Round about the same time you learned how to tell the truth, I reckon."

She pushed open the guest room door but paused to turn and her right hand over her heart. "Ouch, Pops. Ouch."

Her Grandfather gave her a wicked smile and a small nudge. "Oh, you're fine and you know it. Now stop gripin' and let's get a move on. This room needs to be fit for a King and you've got a world of talkin' to do."

And for once, all that talking didn't sound like such a bad idea after all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Exiles From Delight**

_We, unaccustomed to courage_

_exiles from delight_

_live coiled in shells of loneliness_

_until love leaves its high holy temple_

_and comes into our sight to liberate us into life_

_ ~Maya Angelou, Touched By An Angel_

* * *

><p><strong>Disclaimer: I own nothing except what is mine.<strong>

**A/N: Thank you to all those who reviewed/followed/favorite! I always appreciate it!**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

Three days later, they were still waiting for the arrival of their guests.

The preparations were pretty much as finished as they could get under the circumstances. The day before, Devlin and Gabriel had even driven into Jackson—or what was left of it—to see what they could scrounge up from the larger stores there.

It had been a disheartening trip for her. What had been a fairly bustling city by Wyoming standards was now a virtual ghost town. The few people they had seen had bolted at the sight of the old Ford truck rumbling down the roads. Driving through town had proved a challenge in itself and Dev had been forced to make her own path over curbs and through medians to avoid abandoned vehicles and far, far too many dead bodies.

She'd held herself together admirably…until they'd pulled into the parking lot of the Kmart off 89.

A Subaru Forester sat parked in the middle of one of aisles with the driver's side door hanging wide open. Dev had made the mistake of looking inside as they drove past and had damn near lost her hard won composure.

Still seated in the driver's seat was the body of a young woman, her arms wrapped tight around a bundle of blankets. There was no doubt what lay within those blankets and Dev's heart had cracked open at the sight. She had jerked her head away, eyes filled with tears to find Gabriel's steady gaze focused directly at her. He hadn't said a word—but he hadn't needed to. She'd been able to see the regret in his eyes, the sadness.

It hadn't made it any better—nothing could, really—but it had given her the strength she needed to see the trip through. They'd managed to scavenge a small hoard of supplies from the abandoned store, including clothes that came much closer to fitting Gabriel than what they'd had and a veritable smorgasbord of baby gear.

On the trip back, Dev had kept her eyes very firmly on the road in front of her and refused to look too closely at anyone or anything that they passed.

Once home, Gabriel had helped unload their stockpile and had immediately disappeared into the barn—Devlin didn't know why and she didn't ask. She figured if he'd needed to talk, he knew where to find her, but she rather suspected he just needed some time to himself. She was hardly an expert on his innermost workings, but she knew he'd been sorely affected by the devastation they'd seen. He was a hell of a lot more sensitive than he let on.

So while he'd been off doing whatever it was that brooding Archangel's did, she'd spent the rest of the afternoon washing bottles, stacking boxes of diapers and baby wipes and putting together—with Pops' nimble aid—a bouncy chair, a changing table, a diaper genie, a crib and something called a Pack N Play. That last, well, she'd decided that it must have been the work of the devil when they hit thirty minutes in and she and Pops still hadn't managed to figure out how the damn thing went together. The instructions hadn't been particularly instructional and she'd loudly and colorfully wished death upon the bastard who'd written them. When Pops had tried to cheer her up by pointing out that whoever it was likely _was_ dead now, she'd felt like the world's biggest bitch and hadn't said another word until they were done.

Gabriel had wandered back inside by then, and neither Devlin nor Pops asked about his lengthy absence. Instead, they struck up as light-hearted a conversation as they could manage under the circumstances and all three had migrated into the kitchen for dinner.

They'd gone to bed early; tired from what had proven to be a very long day. After that first day, Gabriel had insisted on sleeping on the couch, though Devlin had offered him her room for the duration of his stay. He had very politely, but firmly, refused. It was almost comical, watching him fold his body onto a couch that was several inches too short for him, but he hadn't once complained.

The story of his existence, really, Devlin guessed. He was Gabriel, Chief among the Archangel's and the Left Hand of the Father…and he did not complain.

Devlin, a cup of coffee cradled between her palms, was still musing on that the next morning as she leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, eyes tracing over every line of the still slumbering giant making their couch look like dollhouse furniture. He was on his side facing her, back tucked up against the cushions when he shivered in his sleep, arms instinctively wrapping tighter around his midsection. Dev's eyes narrowed at the sight. He'd refused a blanket, repeating again that he hardly felt the cold and so needed nothing.

"Big idiot," she muttered, setting her coffee down on the console table just inside the living room. She padded down the hallway, socked feet silent on the hand-hewn floors and rummaged around in the linen closet beside the bathroom. A few moments later, she was gently laying a thick, oversized red fleece blanket over her too-stubborn-for-his-own-good houseguest.

She was bent over, ever so carefully draping it over his shoulder when suddenly his entire body went stiff with tension and a large hand shot out lightning quick and fastened around her neck. Devlin let out a squeak of shock, hands shooting up to lock around his, nails digging into his skin. Mouth hanging open wide as she silently and ineffectually fought to suck in a breath, Devlin fought against the panic that was so desperately trying to claw its way up from her belly. Compounding the situation, she felt the sudden jolt that always came before her particular brand of Heavenly ability reared its head and suddenly she was drowning in a sea of turmoil like none she had ever felt before.

It hit her like a Mack truck, the hideous, sucking weight of _somanytoomanycenturiesageseons_ and between that and the lack of oxygen, her vision started to darken round the edges.

And then, just as suddenly as it had all started, it was over. Her neck was free, her mind was again her own…but her chest still felt like it had been filled with lead.

She collapsed to the floor beside the couch in a heap, gasping in great gulps of air. Vaguely, she heard someone calling her name, felt a hand touch her shoulder. Acting on pure, raw instinct, she flinched away, dragging herself across the floor on unsteady hands and trembling knees and crawling half into the big chair by the fireplace. Legs tucked up under her on the floor and head pillowed on her arms on the seat of the chair, she fought desperately to regain both her breath and her composure.

When she finally—_finally_—felt like herself again, Devlin lifted her head to find Gabriel kneeling on the floor beside the chair, his eyes ash gray and his face pale as milk. He looked utterly shattered and it twisted her heart in her chest.

"Forgive me," he choked out, his voice thin with grief. "Forgive me, Navi." His hand extended toward her slowly, as if he feared she would pull away, his bent fingers achingly gentle as they brushed away a tear from her cheek. "I did not…I would never…"

Devlin reached up and wrapped her fingers around his hand once again, only softly this time, comfortingly. "I know you wouldn't," she said, voice rasping slightly, which made Gabriel flinch and attempt to pull away from her grasp. "Hey," she admonished, holding tight to his hand, "stop that. This was my fault…"

"No," Gabriel said, expression colored now with something very much like self-loathing. "The fault was mine alone."

"You were asleep," Dev argued, voice hitching as fresh tears began to flow from her eyes, frustrating her because she knew it was giving him the wrong idea, but she couldn't stop because it was still there, in the center of her chest, that great, paralyzing _weight_. "You were asleep and I startled you. I should have been more careful…I should have…I don't know…I should have…_Dear God, is this how you feel all the time?_" she gasped the words, her free hand coming up to claw at her chest and she looked up at him with a mixture of pity and horror. "Every day, this, this…_weight…_this..._how? _How do you stand it? How the _fuck _do you get through every day feeling like _this_?"

Gabriel's jerked away from her, his expression flattening to that hideous blankness between one heart beat and the next. "You read me," and the words were absolutely brimming with accusation.

"No, I didn't. You projected," Devlin was quick to correct, not wanting this to turn into a lecture. Not when she still felt like this and not when she knew that the only reason she did was because he did. "Which is probably still against the rules but _Christ_, Gabriel…I really don't give a damn about the rules right now. I feel like there's a black hole in my gut, sucking up everything good and happy and just…"

Her voice trailed off, watching as that mask of his slipped once more, revealing so much pain in his eyes that it made her chest ache even more. Without another thought, she flung herself forward, arms wrapping tight around his neck and nearly knocking him over with the sudden force of her movement. There was nothing untoward about this, nothing awkward…not like that first day.

This was comfort, pure and painfully simple.

Devlin just latched on and _hugged _him, this enormous, brooding Archangel who had spent several eternities in perfect submission and had received so little in return for all his sacrifices. She knew her thoughts were blasphemous, but at that moment, she really couldn't have cared less. So she just kept on hugging him.

And then, wonder of wonders, she felt his arms—still taut with tension—lift and then bend around her, wrapping around her back as he hesitantly returned her embrace. Devlin hugged him all the tighter for it.

"You don't deserve to feel like this," she murmured. "After all you've done…you deserve so much better than this."

He pulled back, reaching up to disentangle her arms from about his neck. "That is not for you to decide, Navi," he clasped her hands in his and held them up between them, giving them a gentle squeeze as he offered her a wan smile, "though your concern is…appreciated."

There was the sort of finality in his tone that even she couldn't miss—this conversation was closed. At least, for now. Taking her cue from him though she would have liked nothing more than to keep arguing the point, Dev nodded and pulled her hands away from his, the ache starting to ease. "Well…since you're up, are you hungry?"

"Perhaps. Is your grandfather awake yet?"

Dev, on her feet now and already half way toward the kitchen, stopped in her tracks. She turned back to him, eyes narrowed dangerously. "No. I figured he could do with a couple extra winks."

"So you are preparing the meal this morning?"

"Unless there's someone else here I don't know about."

"Then, no. I am not hungry."

She crossed her arms over her chest, annoyance swiftly drowning out her earlier discomfort. "There's nothing wrong with my cooking!"

"The dinner I suffered through last night would beg to disagree with you."

"What the hell was wrong with dinner?"

Gabriel arched a brow at her. "It was burnt."

"Singed," Dev corrected, bristling, "and only a little. It was still perfectly edible."

"It was soup, Navi."

"And that has what to do with anything?" He was standing now, and she was trying very hard not to get distracted by how well he wore those plaid pajama bottoms and that plain black tee.

_Well done, Kmart. Like, seriously well done._

How he managed to arch that brow even higher, she had no idea. But he did manage it, his look now absolutely incredulous. "Soup, Navi. You burnt _soup_. I did not even know such a thing was possible."

He was very right, but that didn't mean she was ever going to admit it. "I thought it tasted fine."

"You clearly have exceptionally low culinary standards."

She leveled a straight up 'duh' face at him. "I live in middle-of-fucking-nowhere, Wyoming," she pointed out. "Haute cuisine up here is elk chops and venison stew. It's not exactly a chef's paradise."

"Your grandfather manages admirably."

"Well my grandfather…"

"…is awake now, thanks to you two," Pops grumbled, bleary eyed and sleep-rumpled as he marched down the hallway. "I'll cook the damn breakfast," he snapped, throwing a _look _at Gabriel, "so you can quit your bitchin'."

Clearly, Pops had gotten a whole hell of a lot more comfortable with the situation over the past few days. He still had moments when he looked at Gabriel and could see nothing but the great, shining Archangel, but most of the time, he treated Gabriel as he would anyone else. A fact, Dev had noticed, which Gabriel seemed to enjoy very much.

Dev was just about to pipe up with something snarky when a sudden sound caught all of their attention. Off in the distance, loud as hell through all the surrounding silence, was the very distinctive sound of a truck making its way up the very long drive from the main road. Without a word, they all leapt into action. Pops took off for his bedroom—fetching his shotgun, Dev guessed. She tore towards the boarded up front windows, peering out to try and catch a peek at their approaching visitors.

Gabriel, to her surprise, followed her but stayed behind her, a strong, solid wall at her back. "What do you see?"

"Nothing yet," she said, straining to catch a glimpse. Her breath caught in her throat a moment later when Gabriel leaned into her, warmth all down her back—_Oh God_, she had no idea what he was doing but she would be perfectly happy if he'd just keep on doing it.

"You have more than one set of eyes, Navi." His lips were very close to her ear, the tiny hairs along her hairline danced with his breath, sending a shiver down her spine. "Use them."

It was an old argument—a skill she was supposed to have but had never managed to master; had honestly, barely even been able to use. Despite her best efforts, her gifts had always had a mind of their own, coming and going as they pleased and never showing up when she'd asked them to.

She rolled her eyes, trying very hard to ignore his closeness when she knew it certainly did not mean what she very much would have liked for it to mean…and hoo boy, she was going to hell!

"If I knew how to do that, I would have done it already. You've always acted like I do it on purpose, but I swear that I don't. Every time I try, I fail, so that's why…" her voice trailed off as the approaching vehicle came into view.

It was an older model, dark blue Dodge Ram with a plow on the front and a cover on the bed—standard issue for these parts. It began to slow as it drew nearer to the house, and she could read the move for the cautiousness that it was. Certainty bubbled up in her gut and she knew—_knew_—that this was who they had been waiting for.

"It's them," she whispered, barely noticing the way Gabriel stiffened and straightened at that.

"Is it, indeed?"

"Oh yes," she murmured, a feeling of warmth like she'd never known before starting in the middle of her chest and expanding outward. "Oh yes," she repeated, and then she was off, moving toward the door.

Gabriel caught her before she could throw it open, his large hand engulfing her wrist. She whirled around, glaring at him and ready to tell him what he could do with himself, but stopped when he held her coat out to her with his other hand. "You will do them no favors by freezing to death."

"Yeah, fine, you're right," she grabbed the coat from him and he released her arm. She jammed her arms into the sleeves and tore the zipper up just as Pops came barreling out of the bedroom, shotgun at the ready. "No need, Pops," she called, and even her voice sounded as buoyant as she felt, "it's _them_. They're _here_!"

And then she was out the door, leaving it flung open wide behind her.

All his nervous energy calmed by the excitement in his granddaughter's voice—if _she _sensed no harm and if Gabriel wasn't tearing out after her, then he doubted it was worth staying worried about—Pops shuffled over to where Gabriel was standing by the open door. The two stood side by side for a long, silent moment, watching as Devlin waded through the snow toward the still slowly approaching vehicle. There was a tension in the air, a sense of…anticipation.

"Everything's about to change, ain't it?"

Gabriel glanced over at Nathaniel Jacobs, his expression grim. "Everything has already changed."

The old man shook his head. "Not all the way," he murmured.

"No," Gabriel agreed. "Not all the way. Not yet." He shifted his gaze back out to where Devlin had stopped several feet in front of the truck, which had also stopped. "But it will. It always does."


End file.
